


You and My Hometown

by nontoxic



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining while fucking, did the author write a sad holiday fic as cathartic self-indulgence? maybe so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nontoxic/pseuds/nontoxic
Summary: "Have you seen Patrick or Stevie yet?"David's throat closes up at their names. Fuck, he didn't realize it would be this hard. "Not yet.""Well, I know they'd be thrilled to hear you're back," she tells him, sliding his coffee across to him. "Stevie's probably still at the motel right now, but Patrick is at—""Thanks so much, Twyla," David cuts her off with his most charming smile and bolts from the café with his tail between his legs.He didn't realize hownotready he was to be back in Schitt's Creek.--David has been in love with Patrick Brewer since he was 16 years old. Maybe this is the year he'll let Patrick love him back.(a classic childhood-friends-to-lovers-to-exes-to-friends-with-benefits-to-exes-again-to-lovers au)
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, David Rose & Johnny Rose, David Rose & Moira Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 383
Kudos: 523





	1. you can run but only so far

**Author's Note:**

> the first time i heard this song, i saw this fic clearly in my head. by the next morning, i had outlined out the entire story. less than three weeks later, id written almost 35k, and here we are.  
>   
> new chapters will be posted every other day  
>   
> also, a big thanks to [hagface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagface/pseuds/hagface) and [middyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyblaine/pseuds/middyblue) for looking over this for me when my posting anxiety hit!  
>   
> \--  
> title from "tis the damn season" by taylor swift

**Now:** **_December 14, 2018_ **

David pulls his coat closer to his body, guarding himself against the biting cold of the brief but frigid Schitt's Creek winter. He wishes he'd remembered how the wind here can slice through you like a knife, the freezing air stinging and sharp against one's skin, how different it is from the New York City winters, hopping from inside a bar to inside a cab to inside his penthouse. Maybe then he would've worn a hat to protect his ears. (Okay, probably not, but he would've at least remembered to pack real gloves.)

He steps into the café and immediately feels every eye turn to him. Perfect.

"Hi, David! Large caramel macchiato?" Twyla asks cheerily, sidling up next to him and mostly blocking him from view. He did always like her.

"Yes, please. Skim—"

"With two sweeteners and a sprinkle of cocoa powder. It's a hard order to forget," she tells him with a wink before stepping back behind the counter and fiddling with the espresso machine. "So," she starts as she packs the grounds. "How long are you in town for?"

"Just for the holidays."

"Well, you'll have to come to my party next Saturday."

He winces. This shit is what he hates about this town. "Can't wait."

"Have you seen Patrick or Stevie yet?"

David's throat closes up at their names. Fuck, he didn't realize it would be this hard. "Not yet."

"Well, I know they'd be thrilled to hear you're back," she tells him, sliding his coffee across to him. "Stevie's probably still at the motel right now, but Patrick is at—"

"Thanks so much, Twyla," David cuts her off with his most charming smile and bolts from the café with his tail between his legs.

He didn't realize how _not_ ready he was to be back here.

\---

**Thirteen Years Ago:** **_March 10, 2005_ **

"Come on, David, it's easy. Just push off and—"

"Yes, Patrick, I _understand_ the physics, I just don't have the—"

The bike starts to lilt to the left, and David sees his life flash before his eyes (the life of his sweater, mostly, which would not survive a brush with asphalt) for a second, before Patrick's face is there, one hand steady on the seat behind David, the other firmly grasped on the handlebars, keeping him upright.

"Typically, you want the _wheels_ to be on the ground, David."

He huffs and pushes Patrick away from him, standing with as much dignity as possible when pulling one lanky leg over the bike. "I'm done here, I think."

"David, come on, we—"

"No! _You_ can explain to Mr. Jensen why we haven't finished our physics project because you're trying to _inflict violence_ on me with this... contraption!"

Patrick just grins at him. "Well, the project is due Monday, so maybe _I_ should just ride the bike?"

"As long as it's not me!"

Patrick laughs, and adjusts the seat down a bit — giving David an unpleasant jolt of satisfaction in his stubbornness — before pushing off and riding around the motel parking lot in a series of complicated maneuvers that, if David didn't already have a _massive_ crush on him, would absolutely make him swoon.

Still. He's mad at him. No matter how cute he looks in his stupid blue polo and stupid ugly jeans.

"Are you writing this down?" Patrick calls.

"I thought you said you were!"

"That was when you were gonna be the one on the bike, David!"

"Well you didn't specify!"

Patrick laughs again and David's stomach swoops. Ugh.

\---

**Now:** **_December 14, 2018_ **

David pulls his rental car into his parents' driveway, an unfamiliar SUV parked in his usual spot, Stevie's glorified-trash-receptacle of a car taking up the other spot. He clenches his jaw and decides to double-park, perpendicular to both cars, blocking them in. It's not like no one knew he would be arriving this afternoon. He CC'd them all on his flight confirmation.

His mood isn't helped by the fact that no one in the house comes out to help him with his bags, even though he _knows_ they saw him pull up. Once he finally gets his luggage out of the trunk and stacked precariously atop each other so it can be brought in by one person (David being that person, and he's never regretted the last year more than when he remembers how Patrick used to carry his bag inside for him after school each day, that ever-present fond smile on his face), he drags them through the snow and up to the porch.

He opens the door and is immediately hit with a nostalgic wave of homesickness, even though he's _right here_.

His mother still burns the same sage and oakmoss candle she found at a boutique in Toronto when he was twelve. She has single-handedly kept them in business ever since, ordering them by the case because "a signature scent defines a home, dear." His dad's workhorse winter coat is hanging from the coat rack, drying off from what is likely a run to Ivan's bakery for cinnamon rolls (at least, David _hopes_ there are cinnamon rolls), his nicer overcoats tucked safely in the closet where their shoulders are safely maintaining their shape on wide cedar hangers. His sister's voice trickles through the halls, and dishes clink together from the kitchen, likely Stevie milling about, trying to find something to do, always just slightly uncomfortable with the Rose family when David's not around.

He feels his heart clench, and he takes a deep breath as he unlaces his boots, leaving them with his luggage to drip snowmelt in the entry before searching for his family.

Despite the size of the house — the largest private residence in Elm County, or so he's been told — it doesn't take long to follow their voices into the dining room.

"Hi," he greets, irritated.

"Oh my god, David!"

Alexis launches herself into his arms, and he can't entirely fight back his smile as he wraps her up in a hug.

Stevie catches his eye across the room, and he ignores her too-shrewd gaze.

He's missed Alexis. He's missed all of them. So what.

"Whose SUV is that in my spot?" he asks when Alexis untangles herself.

"It's mine," she tells him, proudly. "I bought it three months ago. I landed a big account with Thornbrige Suites, they're doing a major rebrand from like, their boring corporate conferences to an upscale event space, so I figured I needed reliable transportation to get out there all winter. Isn't it so cute? Patrick helped me find the perfect car, it's safe and so _comfy_ and also like, super sexy."

She shimmies her shoulders to add to the effect, unaware of how casually dropping Patrick's name into conversation sends gooseflesh over his skin.

"It's nice."

"Ugh, David! A bit more _enthusiasm_ , please?!"

He stretches his grin as widely as he can. "It's so cute!" he says, sarcasm dripping from every letter.

She glares at him for a moment, before reaching out and tapping his arm. "It's good to have you home."

"Yes, David, son, it's so nice to have you back home," his dad tells him with a watery grin that David is not prepared to handle today.

David glances at his father, seated in his usual spot at the head of the table, a platter of tea sandwiches in front of him, one hand holding Moira's, and David feels that pang of homesickness yet again. "It's good to be back," he tells them honestly.

Stevie just grins at him knowingly, and he knows he's going to get shit later for this sincerity.

\---

**Twelve Years Ago:** **_May 12, 2006_ **

"What are you doing here?"

David's head whips over to see Patrick Brewer, that stupid fucking crown on his head reflecting the parking lot lights in its plastic jewels.

"Hiding."

"I can see that," Patrick replies, stretching his arms overhead to grip the scaffolding supporting the bleachers that David is hiding under. "Why?"

David shrugs. "I didn't even want to _come_ to this stupid thing." He kicks at the dirt with the toe of his Ferragamos, not caring about dirtying them. It's not like he picked them out, anyway, his mom dressing him for this event despite his legal adulthood status.

He hates these fucking shoes, the way they're squared off at the toe.

"Why?" Patrick asks. David glances up, and finds himself falling into those genuinely-curious eyes.

"No one asked me to," he tells him, and oh, _god_ , what is it about this stupid boy that makes David want to split open his entire soul for him?

"Not even Stevie?"

He barks a laugh. "Do you _think_ Stevie gussied herself up to go to prom? No, my mom insisted. Since I fucked up the Little Mister pageant she signed me up for when I was six, apparently I _owe_ her this? Her logic was unclear, as usual, but I'm still stuck here, in this... this _stupid_ tux that I _never_ would've picked for myself, with no escape route." He breathes, gasping in the night air.

"Hey," Patrick says, gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to go in there, okay? We can stay out here, or I can take you somewhere?"

David glances up, and is met with those horrible, wide eyes. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to."

He laughs, bitterly. "You're the fucking _prom king_ , Patrick. You can't just... you can't just _leave_."

Patrick shrugs. "I got my crown, what else is there to do?"

David shakes his head. "Go back in there, Patrick. Dance with Rachel, take some photos, drink spiked punch that tastes like cough syrup. I'll be fine."

"I don't want to dance with Rachel," he replies, his voice firm.

David's mouth hangs open for a moment, trying to find the words he wants to say, when Patrick extends a hand.

"Will you dance with me, David?"

He swallows down the lump in his throat. "Is that an order from the king?" he jokes.

Patrick smiles at him, soft and true and David's crush turns into something he refuses to acknowledge. "No, but I hope you'll say yes."

He has no choice but to gently drop his hand to Patrick's, wrap an arm around his waist, and sway to music he can't hear, hidden away under the bleachers like the fucking cliché he is.

Patrick wraps his arm around David, and pulls him closer, dropping his face into the crook of his neck, and David has never understood the _yearning_ he reads about in romance novels until this moment.

And they sway, in the moonlight (okay, the parking lot lights, but he's pretending), and he wonders what song is in Patrick's head. And just as he's about to ask, he feels Patrick's breath on his ear and hears him whisper, "Can I kiss you?"

David nods, and they both pull back just enough to look in each other's eyes, and the moment stretches thin between them. He feels like he can't _breathe_ , not with Patrick so close, but he forces air into his lungs just before Patrick leans in.

One more molasses-slow second later, Patrick's lips ghost across his, a gentle brush, before he presses more firmly against him, kissing him with everything he has.

David thinks he might be _dead_. There's no way this is reality, is it? He's not... he's not _kissing Patrick Brewer_ under the bleachers, on Prom night, is he?

Patrick pushes up against him a little harder, pressing their chests together and tipping his head back even more, and David gasps, loving the way he feels against him, when he hears a clatter that makes them both jump.

"Fuck, sorry, the crown—"

"It's okay, you should—"

"Can we—"

"David—"

He shakes his head. "Sorry. You go."

Patrick grins at him, that captain-of-the-baseball-team, student-body-president, star-of-the-school-musical, prom-king smile of his that has made David's knees weak ever since grade school. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

"Um."

Patrick shakes his head. "No, no sorry, not like... do you wanna go to the café? Split some mozzarella sticks?"

"Patrick... you should, um... you should go back inside—"

"Have I given you the impression that I want to go back inside?"

David just blinks. "What?"

His hands settle back around David's waist, and _oh_. "I would much rather take you to dinner, David."

"Okay," he whispers, and that's apparently all Patrick needed to slide his hand into his and pull him toward his car.

\---

**Now:** **_December 15, 2018_ **

David knows he's a coward. He knows he's hiding in his room, avoiding talking to his family and his friends and his... and Patrick.

Patrick, he's avoiding most of all.

And he knows it's cowardly. He knows he's being an asshole, avoiding dishing out the groveling apologies he owes to the people he cares about. But he can't quite bring himself to leave the safety of this room.

He sips his tea — lemon ginger, Patrick's least favorite, the only one in their kitchen that doesn't taste like Patrick's kisses — and reads his book — a saccharine romance novel, one that Patrick and Stevie both would never read — and avoids the consequences of his actions for one more day.

\---

**Twelve Years Ago:** **_June 5, 2006_ **

"I want to tell my parents," Patrick tells him, tracing mindless patterns into David's shoulder where they lay, sides pressed together atop a pile of blankets in the bed of Clint's old pickup truck.

David swallows down his hopes and his fears in one gulp. "Tell, um... tell them? Te-tell them what, exactly?"

Patrick presses a kiss to his temple, and David melts. "I want to tell them about me. I... I want to tell them about _you_."

With an exhale, David pushes his anxieties from his chest and props himself up on one elbow so he can gaze down at his boyfriend. "Patrick, you don't have to—"

"I want to."

"This is something you should only do on your terms."

Patrick brings up his left hand to trace along David's jaw. "How did you tell your parents?"

The laugh spills from his lips before he can pull it back. "Oh, no, you don't want to hear this."

"Aw, come on, sweetheart, tell me!"

It's a stupid nickname, one Patrick picked up during a rare movie night that they actually _watched_ a movie in the Rose's basement. Still, it makes David's stomach flutter every time, hearing the care and affection Patrick imbues into every letter of the word.

With a sigh, he tells him, "I brought home Stevie and Jake one day and told my parents to just deal with it."

"Wait, I thought you only, um... with Stevie, I didn't realize you all—"

"Oh, no. I dated Stevie, and then I dated Jake and Stevie was also dating Jake, and we _almost_ all, but I said no."

Patrick just blinks at him.

"It was just an easy solution to my coming-out problem, that's all."

"Okay, David," Patrick responds with a smile, but the look in his eyes doesn't change, and David realizes he was never judging him, just trying to understand. His stomach swoops again.

"So if you want me to just, um, show up, and be an, um, easy scapegoat, I can—"

"David, that's not what this is." Patrick reaches down for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I want them to know me. And I want them to know you. You're... you're important to me."

David nods and nods, unable to wrap his head around a statement like that. He doesn't think he's ever been _important_ to someone. "Oh. Um. Okay. Well, whenever you're ready."

"Will you be there with me, though? Not as a... a scapegoat, just because you... you make me brave, David."

A laugh bursts out from him at that, and the stricken look on Patrick's face is the only thing that calms him down. "Sorry, sorry, not laughing at you, just... the notion of _me_ making _you_ brave."

Patrick's face softens, a small smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. "You made me feel brave enough to finally kiss the guy I'd been crushing on for years on prom night, so. Maybe give yourself a bit more credit?"

David still thinks that any bravery Patrick had about kissing a boy was more internal than his influence, but he'll let it go for now.

He has much more exciting things for their mouths to do than argue about this until their throats are dry.

\---

**Now:** **_December 16, 2018_ **

"So," Stevie starts as David uncorks a second bottle of wine. "Have you seen Patrick yet?"

David pretends like his heart doesn't lodge itself in his throat at his name. "Nope, had a quiet day here yesterday."

She narrows her eyes, seeing right through him. As always. "You can't avoid him for two weeks, David. There aren't enough people in this town for that."

"I'm not avoiding him."

"So you've just been sitting inside all day, not even going out for coffee—"

"We have an espresso machine."

"—because you just _love_ reading books in your childhood bedroom?"

How the fuck did she _know_? "I do, actually."

"Okay, well, how about you tell me the truth."

"The truth is that I love reading books in my childhood bedroom."

"David."

"Stevie."

They stare at each other for several long seconds.

David breaks first. "Fine. I... am afraid to see him."

"Why?"

"Um, because I _ghosted_ him last year?"

Stevie nods. "Oh, right. That."

David pulls his lips between his teeth and bites down, hard, to keep himself from spilling everything. Like that he might be in love with Patrick. Again. Still. Always. Whatever.

"Mm," he hums in acknowledgement instead.

"Talk to him, David. He's more forgiving of your bullshit than either one of us could ever comprehend."

He feels his chin wobble, and he swallows hard to keep the sob inside. "Fine."

They're quiet for a moment, and David pours them each a large glass of wine and hands one to Stevie. He watches her take a large gulp, her shoulders relaxed, her expression easy. She doesn't seem upset with him, but still, he should... "I'm sorry."

She raises one eyebrow at him. "For ghosting Patrick? You should tell _him_ that."

He shakes his head. "No, for... for ignoring you. I, um. I shouldn't have..." He takes a deep breath. "I shouldn't have ignored you. Just because I couldn't deal with Patrick."

She smirks at him. "That was good practice for when you apologize to Patrick."

"I was being sincere!"

"Yes, and I am allergic, so I'm ignoring it."

"Unbelievable," David mutters under his breath, taking a sip of his wine.

"David, it's fine. We're fine."

He nods, but says nothing, and they fall silent again, David swirling the wine in his glass and Stevie practically studying him.

He's unprepared for what she says when she finally breaks the silence.

"He bought the general store."

It hits him like a brick right to his chest. "What?"

She shrugs, feigning casualness, like this isn't A Big Fucking Deal. "He always wanted to start his own business, you know that."

"What... um. W-what is he...?"

Stevie turns her keen eyes on him, a bit of mischief sparkling. "Did he turn it into a beautiful one-stop retail environment showcasing handmade local goods and crafts from the neighboring communities?"

"Yes! Yes, Stevie, you know _exactly_ what I'm asking."

He needs to know if Patrick did it. Did Patrick take his... his _dream_ idea and... how would he even _remember_ that?

He _needs_ to know.

Stevie shrugs. "I'm not sure, it's just a store to me. But you should pop in sometime and see the place for yourself."

She grabs her glass and walks out to the living room before he can demand she tell him just what the _fuck_ Patrick did with the store.

\---

**Twelve Years Ago:** **_August 25, 2006_ **

"You leave tomorrow," Patrick says, his lips brushing against David's bare chest with each syllable.

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna miss you."

What is he supposed to say to that? Does he tell Patrick he's going to miss him, too? That three weeks of holding his hand in the hallway and finding notes slipped into his locker before graduation, followed by two and a half months of shared baskets of fries at the café, of making out in Patrick's basement, of driving to Elmdale for movie dates with Patrick's hand on his knee, of sitting with Patrick and his parents after he came out, of gripping his hand after and wiping his tears and kissing his pride into his neck, of sneaking out to see him at night, of sneaking him _in_... He stops the train of thought. He can't tell Patrick that this summer with him is the happiest he's ever been.

So instead, he runs his hand up Patrick's spine and tangles it into his curls, pulling his face to his and saying it all with a soul-shattering kiss.

"David," Patrick breathes into his mouth. "I... I want..."

"Anything," he tells him.

And he realizes it's true. If Patrick tells him he wants David to stay, or asks him to go to Toronto with him or to bring him to New York or to run away together to Saskatchewan... he'll do it. He refuses to think about why.

Patrick slides his hand along his thigh, achingly gentle, and whispers, "I just want you," it shatters him apart.

But he'll do anything Patrick wants, so he opens him up slowly and gently and kisses the tears off his face when he pushes into him, and he lets Patrick hold him close after, his legs wrapped tightly around David's waist and his arms locked behind his neck, and he lets Patrick whisper how much he's going to miss him into his neck as they come down.

And in a final act of mercy, he kisses Patrick goodnight two hours later, cleaned up and lounging in each other's arms on the couch in Patrick's basement, and he doesn't tell him that his flight is at 8am and they won't see each other tomorrow to say goodbye.

It's a clean break. It's for the best.

\---

**Now:** **_December 17, 2018_ **

He steps into the café and his eyes immediately lock with Rachel's and _shit_.

"David!"

"Hey! It's me," he says, hoping to figure out a way to get the _fuck out of here_ , and decides he would be fine if the earth opens up and swallows him whole.

"How've you been?" she asks, cheery as ever, throwing an arm around his shoulders in a gentle, friendly hug. "I haven't seen you since—"

"Yep! Yeah, I've been... good! Been busy, you know."

She cocks her head, far too perceptive considering how little they actually know each other, and he wonders how much time she's been spending with Stevie lately. "He's not mad at you, you know."

He lets out a breath of a laugh, wondering how the _fuck_ Rachel Miller of all people knows exactly what's going on in his head. "Well," he replies, his voice easy. "I can't see why he would be."

Her smile turns up on one side and it looks too much like Patrick's shit-eating smirk for David's comfort. "Because you've been friends-who-hook-up-on-and-off since _high school_ and you haven't answered his texts for the last year?"

"Mm! Right. _That_."

She glances around, and her voice drops to a whisper. "David, you can... if you tell him you're in love with him, I think he'll—"

He feels his spine lock, the tension pulling his entire body taut. "All due respect, Rachel, you don't know me. So."

"I know Patrick though," she tells him, her eyes knowing and sharp. "And I know how easy he is to love."

He glares at her. "Have a good day, Rachel."

He's halfway across the street when he realizes he never got his coffee, or Patrick's peace offering tea, and unfortunately, when he looks over to the General Store, his gaze locks on his favorite pair of eyes and he knows it's too late to pretend he didn't see him.

 _Fuck_.

\---

**Eleven Years Ago:** **_December 22, 2007_ **

"So, um... New York, eh?"

David nods. "Yeah."

"How's it treating you?"

"It's great. How, um... how's Toronto?"

"It's great."

"Great."

Patrick scuffs his shoes against the asphalt, and David wants to reprimand him, tell him his shoes will never last if he keeps kicking at the ground like it offended him, but he's not sure if they do that anymore.

Patrick kicks again and pulls at the sleeves of his (actually really nice) peacoat and David can't _stand_ it anymore. "Oh my god, please, enough, I know this is awkward but your poor wardrobe has it bad enough without you _assaulting_ them."

Patrick looks up at him, and his eyes catch the streetlights and _oh_ , fuck, he's still so beautiful. "Why didn't you come home last year?"

"Snowstorm, um, grounded all the flights."

"And over the summer?"

David shrugs. "I got an internship at a gallery."

"That's incredible, David!" he says. David can tell he means it, which makes him _ache_. "So it wasn't because we broke up?"

He forces his mouth to shape itself into a smile. He thinks he remembers how. Being with Patrick helps. "No," he replies, softly. "Definitely not."

"Okay, David." Patrick nods, his gaze over David's shoulder, and he can _feel_ Patrick thinking. "Do you want to go for a drive?"

He means to say no, he really does. They had a clean break, he should let Patrick go. It's on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for him to— "Yes," he says on an exhale.

And twenty minutes outside of town, Patrick pulls over and climbs into his lap and seals his mouth over David's and he can't remember why he wanted to say no.

\---

**Now:** **_December 17, 2018_ **

The bell jingles when David opens the door, and he's hit with that same sense of nostalgia and homesickness that washed over him when he walked into his parents' house yesterday.

"Hi," he whispers, the silence of the store absolutely deafening over the rushing in his ears.

"Hi," Patrick replies, just as softly. "You're here."

"Yep."

"You didn't text me back."

"I didn't."

"Any of the 30 times I reached out."

"That's correct."

"Why?"

The bell chimes again, cutting through the tension of the moment, pulling David back to reality. He steps aside and lets the customer pass him, keeping his eyes locked on Patrick as he helps the woman find window cleaner. He watches Patrick upsell her some lint-free cloths, and that homesick feeling threatens to overwhelm him.

He pretends to study the label on a box of tea as the woman rings out, and he listens as Patrick's dress shoes _clack_ against the floor as he escorts her out. He hears the bell, then the click of the door closing, then the lock sliding into place, then the sign being flipped, then Patrick's shoes once again as he takes three strides over to David.

"Can we talk?" Patrick asks, his voice gentle and concerned.

David doesn't think he deserves it, but he nods anyway and follows Patrick into the back room.

He sits on an old sofa that he's certain Stevie gifted Patrick from a motel remodel, and watches Patrick drop into the desk chair.

"Are we okay?" Patrick asks, barely giving himself a moment to settle. "Fuck, no, that's not what I... are _you_ okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Then why wouldn't you _talk_ to me?"

"I..." He can't put it into words.

Patrick shakes his head. "David, I thought... We were always friends, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then can you answer my texts next time? Maybe call me every once in a while, so I don't have to turn on post notifications on Instagram just to make sure I don't miss any proof of life?"

David feels one corner of his mouth twitch up tentatively. "You have post notifications on for me?"

He shrugs. "You wouldn't talk to me, I had to make sure you were okay somehow."

It hits him again, those Big Fucking Feelings he has for Patrick, and he pushes them as far away as possible. "Thank you."

Patrick's devastating eyes burn his face, all earnest and true when he tells him, "It was nothing."

"It was not nothing."

"Okay, David."

 _Okay, David_. How many times over the years has Patrick absolutely kneecapped him with that phrase? He wants to ask how Patrick is, if Patrick is seeing anyone, if Patrick misses him as much as he does, if Patrick wraps his arms around himself at night and remembers falling asleep tangled up together in the bed of Patrick's old pickup the summer after high school. If Patrick fucks other people and thinks about David the way David does him.

"You bought the General Store?" is what he asks instead.

Patrick seems surprised by the turn in conversation, and rubs a hand over the short hair at the back of his head, and David misses the curls but he knows how the shorter hair feels against his skin and he misses that, too. "Yeah, it uh, it just kinda happened."

"It ' _just happened_ '? Patrick, have you ever made a decision that ' _just happened_ '?"

Patrick laughs. "Every winter, David."

He swallows. "No you don't."

Patrick looks at him. "No, I don't."

He knows Patrick. He knows that Patrick plans this out. He knows that this doesn't _just happen_ between them. It's deliberate. A choice Patrick makes, well in advance of his arrival. On purpose.

It's a heady thought.

"So..." David starts.

"Do you wanna go out for dinner tonight?"

It sounds like a date. David _wants_ it to be a date, even though it _can't_ be a date. "Yes."

"Great. I'll pick you up at 7:30? We can go to the bistro in Elmdale with the good garlic bread."

He wants to make a joke about how Patrick must not want to kiss him if he's going to feed him that much garlic first, but he tamps down on the urge. He doesn't know if he could survive it if Patrick confirmed that fear. "Sounds great."

"It's a date," Patrick replies, before standing and passing through the curtain to unlock the door and wait for customers.

David sits in the back and lets that sentence ring in his head for far longer than he cares to admit.

\---

**Ten Years Ago:** **_December 15, 2008_ **

On David's third night back in Schitt's Creek, he spots Patrick at the movies, arm in arm with Rachel, and time stops.

He looks _so_ fucking good.

The curls are gone, and David mourns them, but the short hair opens up his loud face even more, and he left just enough on top for David to imagine gripping it in his fingers while he fucks his face and he _wants him_ , even still, even after a whirlwind romance with Sebastien, even after having had mind-blowing sex with a sexy photographer who knew how to make him come so hard he literally blacked out, he still wants Patrick Brewer.

He's afraid he'll never stop wanting him.

So seeing Patrick — in a faded teeshirt that David remembers peeling off of him in his bedroom one sweltering night the first time they had sex, which now pulls even tighter across his broader shoulders and more-defined chest and hugs his bigger biceps the way David wants them to hug him — here, at the site of so many of their dates that summer, well. He knows he's going to fall back into it with him.

Again.

He refuses to feel shame about it, though. Patrick Brewer is the hottest person he's ever met, and sex with him was always better than anything he's had in New York, and oh _god_ , how did he ever think Sebastien Raine would be enough to get Patrick out from under his skin?

Seeing Patrick here, now, under the fluorescent lights of the Elmdale Art House, in that stupid fucking teeshirt that David gently pushed up and off his body one night two and a half years ago, a night that he still dreams about, he knows that no one will ever compare.

And he's just going to have to settle. Which is fine. He's been settling his whole life.

"David! Stevie!" he hears Rachel call out.

Patrick's eyes snap to his and immediately soften, his smile spreading wide and beautiful over that face that David has _missed_ so fucking much over the last year.

And later that night, when Patrick takes him apart in his bedroom while Marcy and Clint are visiting his grandmother, he looks at him with those same soft eyes and that same beautiful smile as he presses into David and he commits to _really_ remembering this. He won't let himself be swayed by beautiful, aloof New Yorkers into forgetting this again.

He may not get to keep it for real, but he's damn sure he's going to keep the memory.

\---

**Now:** **_December 17, 2018_ **

Patrick's car pulls up outside and for a moment, David stops breathing.

It's Clint's old pickup. He thought Patrick got rid of this years ago.

David shakes his head and and slides his hand inside his coat sleeve to pinch his arm, grounding him, keeping him from getting washed away in the flood of memories, of laying Patrick out on the bench seat at the drive-in their one summer together; of falling asleep wrapped in Patrick's arms on a pile of blankets in the bed of the truck while stargazing; of resting his head on Patrick's shoulder while he drove them out of town, seemingly with no destination in mind, until he pulled up to the botanical gardens; of Patrick's cat-that-caught-the-canary smile thrown at him over that very shoulder when David figured it out.

He pinches hard. He's 30 years old. He and Patrick are adults now. They're... casual. They haven't stopped being attracted to each other in nearly 15 years, and he thinks that's due to the time they spend apart more than anything.

At least, that's what he forces himself to think as he walks up to the truck.

"I can't believe you still have this."

Patrick's big brown eyes look at him, a question hidden in there that David refuses to parse, and he replies, "Too many memories in this old girl to get rid of her."

"Mm, is that why you keep hooking up with me every Christmas?" he jokes.

"Not every Christmas," Patrick jokes back, flatly, still avoiding the question.

David forces a laugh as to not call attention to the elephant in the room.

Patrick opens the door for him and holds out a steadying hand to help him inside, as always, and David feels his heart crack open again, just a little.

They drive in relative silence through the town, and once they pass the sign, Patrick leans over and takes David's hand and they both sigh.

It feels right, sitting in this truck, holding this man's hand, on these familiar streets, under the quiet cover of winter's early nightfall.

David suddenly realizes he hasn't seen Patrick in the summer months since he was 18, and before he can stop it, he finds himself asking, "What do you do here in the summer?"

He feels Patrick's thumb graze over his knuckles, and he knows he's also thinking about the seasons they spend apart. "I play baseball for the Café Tropical team. I hike a lot. Mostly, I work." He hesitates, before his voice drops just a little quieter and says, "I go to the botanical gardens every year."

David has no fucking idea what to do with that, so he just brushes it off. "I bet Ken _loved_ it."

Patrick squeezes his hand, but keeps his eyes on the road, and tells him, "I never brought Ken there."

"Good," David chokes out, unable to take it anymore. "I don't think he would appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the cherry blossoms, not with his taste in footwear."

"I dunno, David, he wanted to marry me, he must at least have decent taste."

David barks out a surprised laugh, not expecting Patrick to joke about that, and a moment later, Patrick joins in. And they _keep laughing_ and his stomach hurts but it feels so _good_ to laugh with him like this. They're still laughing and David has tears in his eyes from it when Patrick pulls over, wheezing, "I can't— I can't fucking _see_."

They sit there, on the side of the road and calm down, giggling every few seconds, setting each other off again.

And once they're _finally_ somewhat put back together, David blurts, "I've missed laughing with you like this."

Patrick's response is to pull him in for a familiarly bruising kiss, which David is all too eager to return, crawling into his lap in the bench seat and wrapping his hands around Patrick's jaw, cradling his face like the precious thing it is. "I've missed everything with you, David," Patrick whispers against his lips, and David feels that _ache_ that's ever-present flare up like pressing a bruise.

"Me too," he squeaks out, before lunging forward to taste him again.

\---

**Nine Years Ago:** **_December 19, 2009_ **

David's been home for all of three hours when Patrick finds him.

" _Da_ -vid!" Alexis calls up the stairs. " _Patrick_ is here!"

His heart jumps into his throat, the anxiety clawing its way up, up, up out of his stomach.

They haven't spoken much over the last year. But with their university graduations pending, he's not sure what Patrick thinks is going to happen between them. He's not sure what Patrick _wants_ to happen between them. Hell, he's not sure what _he_ wants to happen between them.

But he knows he wants to see Patrick's face, especially after the year he's had, so he climbs down the stairs and pulls Patrick into a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the fire in his eyes.

"Hi," he mumbles into Patrick's neck.

"Hi."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For whatever made you mad enough that you came barging over here the second I got home."

He feels Patrick run a hand along his spine, his palm flat and steady against his back. "I'm not mad at you, David. I'm worried." He feels Patrick inhale, and he wishes he had thought to do the same when he tucked his face into Patrick's neck. He's missed the way his skin smells like crisp morning air. "Are you okay?"

He'd whispered it, but they're so wrapped up in each other that David _felt_ him ask the question. "No," he tells him honestly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Patrick asks, pulling back and holding David's face in his hands, searching his face for any sign of discomfort, and that's what breaks him.

He nods, not trusting himself to answer in case the sobs make their way out, and he leads Patrick up to his bedroom, refusing to think about the fact that last time Patrick was in here, he had woken up to a kiss on his forehead, a gentleness he hasn't felt in the year since.

"She was using me," David says, once the door is shut behind them. "I thought..." He shakes his head. "It's stupid, I thought she was a good person. Kind and... and caring and... like you?"

"David..."

"But there's no one like you, Patrick."

Patrick sits down next to him on the bed and pulls David's head down to rest in his lap while he combs his fingers through his hair. "There's no one like you, either, David."

He laughs, bitterly. "We're doomed then, huh? Just two mismatched misfits."

Patrick presses a kiss to his forehead and he closes his eyes, reveling in it. "I think we match just fine."

David thinks so, too. But he won't dare say it.

Instead, he lets Patrick make him laugh until he forgets all about how his ex abandoned him (literally, just left him at a party in New Jersey with no way home) when she got the connections she needed. And he lets Patrick make him come until he forgets all about his ex in general. And he lets Patrick hold him until he forgets how he ever thought someone else could fill that Patrick-shaped hole in his heart.


	2. there's an ache in you put there by the ache in me

**Now:** **_December 17, 2018_ **

Back inside Patrick's apartment, David jolts awake with a start, the taste of tiramisu and malbec and Patrick's come still on his lips.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"David, it's fine. You were out for like, a minute."

He looks around wildly, trying to clock where his underwear landed so he can make a graceful exit, when he feels Patrick press his lips along the knob of his spine and _oh_ , he's missed the way Patrick lights him up with gentle touches.

It's nothing like what he gets from the revolving list of people he hooks up with in the city. There, he needs rough hands and tight grips and clawing nails just to feel _something_.

Here? Here, Patrick runs one fingertip featherlight along his collarbone and he's a _goner_.

He's missed him so much.

"You can stay, you know," Patrick whispers, not quite in his ear, but to the room at large. As if telling him directly would scare him off.

As if he knows that yes, it would.

"I, um. I didn't think you would... last year, was, um—"

"Yeah," he responds, cutting him off. "But you can still stay here."

The phrasing catches David's attention. It's not quite asking him to _stay_ -stay, but that's the idea, anyway.

"You won't mind?"

Patrick lifts one hand to stroke along his cheekbone, not quite looking him in the eye. "I love waking up next to you, David."

"Me too," he confesses, his voice tight.

Patrick kisses him then, and pulls him down to lay next to him, their faces pressed together in the dark, too close to make out each other's expression.

"Can we do dinner or something again tomorrow?" Patrick asks against his lips.

He hums in agreement, not willing to break the kiss.

It's a dangerous line they're toeing. Sure, they hang out sometimes when he's home, and they hook up, but they've been careful to keep it casual in recent years.

Well, _David_ has been careful to keep it casual in recent years.

(He refuses to think about last year. If he does, he'll decide not to do this now. And he _really_ wants to do this now.)

\---

**Nine Years Ago:** **_January 2, 2010_ **

"You know," Patrick tells him on his last night in town, his chest solid against David's back as he holds him close in David's bedroom, his laptop playing _You've Got Mail_ on the mattress next to them. "We both graduate soon."

"We do." _Fuck_. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

He feels Patrick take a sharp, shallow breath, a sure tell that he's about to— "I was thinking about applying to a few jobs in New York."

 _Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ fuck _!!! Fuck!!!_

"Oh, I'm not sure _that's_ a good idea," David responds, his voice carefully easy. "You're far too nice for New York. That city would eat you alive."

Patrick is silent for a moment, before David feels his lips press against the side of his neck. "Yeah, you're probably right."

His voice sounds thick, but David won't take it back. He _can't_. If Patrick moves, they'll date for a couple months and Patrick will figure out what a goddamn mess he is now, how far he is from the boy Patrick knew in high school. He'll see the damage, he'll... _fuck_ , he'll see David's so-called _friends_ and he'll know. He'll figure out that David numbs his anxieties with whatever he can find, whether it's a pill or a person or a group of people or a group of people with pills. He'll figure out that David is pathetically desperate for acceptance. He'll see David's determination to prove to those people that he belongs, that his presence in the city, in their world, in their circle, is vaid. That he's not just a small town rich kid. That he has value.

He'll see how David uses his money and his body to try to keep those people interested long enough for him to prove it. He'll see the real him and he'll run screaming, right back to his wholesome little life in Schitt's Creek.

And then their relationship will be too damaged for David to keep popping in to pretend like this.

So he pretends he can't feel Patrick's heart breaking, and he turns around in his arms and straddles his lap and grinds hard against him as he kisses him with everything he has before taking them both in hand and panting into Patrick's mouth when they come.

And after, Patrick holds him with more care than David has ever felt and with his voice shaking but sure, he tells him, "I loved you, you know."

David feels himself shatter, and says nothing, he just stares at him.

"In high school," Patrick clarifies. "And that summer."

David thinks about the boy Patrick is talking about — the snippy boy with big dreams in the big city, the boy who let Patrick hold his hand at the café and the Elmdale Art House and the botanical gardens and the bed of his dad's pickup, the boy who loved Patrick openly and easily, without fear, without years of hurt pushing them apart, carving out the space between them like a canyon.

He's spent years proud of how far he's come. Proud of escaping from this small town that seems to have a grip on its inhabitants, proud of getting on the Dean's List his first semester at NYU, proud of his internship at La MaMa, proud of snagging Sebastien Raine for three whole months, proud of the network he built with endless nights out and proud of he glamorous life he's sure awaits him after he graduates in June.

Knowing Patrick Brewer loved that old version of him? That he loved that snippy boy with the big dreams and the open heart? It makes him want to retreat far, far inward, suddenly ashamed of just how brutally he beat that boy back in order to get ahead.

But Patrick isn't done. "And for so long after, and... I should've told you. You deserved to know. You _deserve_ to know. That you're loved, I mean."

It's stumbling and inelegant and David notices his switch to the present tense in that last sentence and he can't _breathe_ , so he just kisses him, and keeps kissing him until Patrick is the one to pull away for air before diving back in.

And when he gets up to use the bathroom, he keeps walking down the hall and knocks on his parents' door.

"Come in," he hears his father call.

He cracks open the door and leans against the frame and hugs himself tight. "Can you please ask Patrick to leave?"

His mother takes off her reading glasses and gives him her full attention for the first time he can remember. "Did something happen, dear?"

He shakes his head. "I just need him to go," he says, forcing his voice to remain steady. "But I need... can you just give us ten minutes?"

Moira looks at him for a moment, before turning her eyes to her husband. They seem to have a silent conversation, and David feels his heart being pulled within an inch of its life. He wants that. He _wants_ that, and he thinks he could've had it. Finally, his father turns to him and nods, and David returns to his bedroom, crawling under the covers to let Patrick hold him for nine and a half minutes, and he pretends this is his life.

When Johnny eventually knocks on the door and tells Patrick it's getting late and he should head home, David can tell that Patrick knows. Johnny never cared about Patrick staying late when they were in high school, why would he care now, when they're 21? He can see it on his face, the moment it clicks. When he realizes that David wants him gone.

Still, Patrick hugs him in the doorway and kisses him, hard, and asks, "I'll see you next Christmas?"

David just kisses him back, wordless. He already knows he can't come back here next year, but he's going to take every ounce of Patrick he can while he has him.

Eventually, Patrick pulls away and rests his forehead against David's, lingering there for a long moment, before walking down their front steps to his truck.

David watches as his tail lights disappear around the corner of Elm Street, and he keeps staring at the now-dark corner until his eyes water.

\---

**Now:** **_December 18, 2018_ **

Waking up with Patrick Brewer is a luxury.

David had forgotten how Patrick keeps good coffee on hand and has a pot brewed and ready before he wakes up (though he's always steadfastly refused to let himself wonder who he keeps coffee in his home for, considering Patrick doesn't drink it). He'd forgotten how Patrick will slip out of bed and make himself a cup of tea and put coffee in a thermos for David to wake up to and slide back between the covers and stroke one hand through David's hair while he does the New York Times crossword on his phone. When David finally wakes, Patrick always leans down for a kiss, his hand gentle on David's jaw and his breath minty fresh, without a care in the world for David's own morning breath. Sometimes, he slides a hand into David's joggers and makes him come. Other times, he just kisses him languidly until David's brain boots up, then he gets out of bed to make them breakfast while David sips his coffee, curled up in Patrick's comforter.

It's domestic, and sweet, and the best thing David has ever experienced.

And if he had a better sense of self-preservation, he wouldn't allow this to happen. It sets the bar too high. No one else will ever do anything like this for him.

(No one else will love him like Patrick does.)

But he _doesn't_ have a better sense of self-preservation, so he lets himself luxuriate in Patrick's warm bed, in his kisses and in his strong arms and in his gentle hands and in his thermos of coffee with a splash of caramel creamer that he _knows_ Patrick buys just for him but has convinced himself that he keeps around for guests in general. And he lets himself watch Patrick putter around the kitchen, quietly whistling a song as he cracks eggs and measures flour and sets up a tray piled high with perfect pancakes and brings them back to bed with a devastating grin.

"So, I have to get ready for work," Patrick says, settling the tray over David's lap and leaning down for another kiss. "And I'm meeting Rachel for lunch, but I was thinking that tonight, maybe we could go to the Christmas market in Thornbridge? There are a few last-minute gifts I need to buy."

David loves when Patrick gets like this, all sweet and big gesture-y, but he misses their teasing, so he pushes. "Mm, I _have_ my Christmas gifts, though? So not sure why _I_ need to go walk around in the cold and look at tacky Live Laugh Love signs and listen to MLM sales pitches."

Patrick laughs and pushes down one corner of his smile and _oh_ , David really missed him. "There will be baked goods and hot chocolate."

Well, he can hardly pretend he's not interested _now_. "I have a couple questions."

"How many are about the hot chocolate?" Patrick teases.

"Most of them. Will there be multiple toppings and will we be getting there early enough that they don't run out of marshmallows?"

Patrick's grin spreads across his face, and that part of David that is in love with him, that part that he's been ignoring for the last decade and a half, comes tearing out of hiding with a vengeance and he's bowled over when Patrick leans over and kisses his cheek, intimately and casually, as if they do this every day, and whispers, "Thank you, David."

He shakes his head, shaking Patrick off in the process. "Okay, okay, get ready for work."

Patrick laughs again, bright and open, and David feels his heart break at the thought that he only gets to hear it for thirteen more days. "Fine, fine. Listen, no rush. I'll leave you my spare key, you can shower and lock up. I'll get the key back from you tonight or something."

He just nods, paralyzed by the domesticity of this moment, and watches (and eats his pancakes, because he's surprised, but he's not stupid enough to let it distract him from pancakes) Patrick move through the space easily, his life spread out in front of him and organized perfectly, in a way only Patrick Brewer is capable of accomplishing.

With two forkfuls of pancakes left on his plate, Patrick kisses him goodbye and heads out, seemingly unworried that a virtual stranger is in his apartment.

When David was little, he loved playing make-believe. He would pretend he had a mother who was warm and caring, like Mrs. Brewer, who brought fresh cookies for the class on holidays. He would pretend he had a dad who picked him up from school every day, like Mr. Schitt, sitting outside the doors in his truck and waving like a madman at Mutt, excited to see his boy after a day apart. He would pretend he had a friend, someone who understood him and wanted to play, someone like Twyla, who latched onto Alexis like she was the other half of her heart. (And yeah, okay, one day in fourth grade, there was a new girl who moved to town to live with her aunt, who was all dark hair and sad eyes and a smart mouth and David loved her immediately. But for years before that, and for the two months of grade 10 when they weren't speaking because they lost their virginities to each other and Stevie wanted more and he didn't, he pretended he had someone just like her.)

And for the last decade, he would pretend that he was happy.

So, yeah, he's had a lifetime of practice playing make-believe.

So he sits in Patrick's bed and pretends that this is his life. That he and Patrick opened the general store together. That he and Patrick live in this tiny apartment together. That Patrick opens the store and lets David sleep in. That they're in love and happy and that he falls asleep every night with Patrick's arms around his waist and with Patrick's breath on the back of his neck.

He pretends it's easy and normal for him to bring the tray back into the kitchen and wash the dishes. He pretends they're his, too, that they share this kitchen and this set of IKEA plates.

He pretends the toothpaste in Patrick's medicine cabinet is the tube they share, because even though David doesn't think that's sanitary, he can't deny how much he loves the intimacy of it.

When he's dressed and walking out the door, he pretends that he'll be back here tonight and tomorrow and the day after and the day after, for all the days stretching out to the horizon.

And _fuck_ if he doesn't want it.

\---

**Eight Years Ago:** **_December 2010_ **

# Patrick

####  **Dec 25, 2010,** 11:33 AM

Patrick
    Merry Christmas, David. It's not the same here without you this year.

####  **Dec 27, 2010,** 10:58 PM

David
    sorry, was at a party. merry christmas, patrick. hope youre well

Patrick
    You too, David.

\---

**Now:** **_December 18, 2018_ **

He knows he's home to see his family for the holidays. Logically, he is aware of this.

That doesn't change the fact that every year, he gets consumed by Patrick Brewer and spends the majority of his time with him, instead of spending the quality family time the Roses have been steadily getting better at over the last few years.

"Oh, _good morning_ , David! And where were _you_ last night?" Alexis jokes when he walks in after noon.

Fuck. "Out... side. I was outside."

"All night?" Johnny asks.

Alexis rests her chin on her hands and pulls her lips between her teeth, shimmying her shoulders at him from her seat at the dining room table, her delight at David's discomfort clear as day.

"Yes."

Alexis grins wolfishly at him. "And was _Patrick_ outside with you? _All night_?"

"Oh, you were with Patrick? He's a nice young man."

"He spends every holiday with sweet Pat, dear," his mother tells her husband, not even bothering to look up from her newspaper.

"Oh! Well. That's... That's nice, then. I haven't seen you two together in a while. I'm, uh, that's good! So things are... good?"

David swallows. "There are no _things_ , we just... hang out while I'm home."

"Ooh, is he already pulling back?" Alexis asks, scrunching up her nose in faux pity. "It's earlier than usual for things to fizzle out with you two, but I can't say I blame him, you're _particularly_ high-strung this year," she says, returning her attention to her phone.

"No! _No_ , we're just. We're casual."

Alexis glances up and narrows her eyes at him. "Mmhmm. Sure."

"We are!"

"Yes, dear, your protestations have been noted."

He scoffs at them.

"You know, son, if you wanted to... bring Patrick by for dinner, we'd love to have him."

He makes a noise of protest, before stomping into the kitchen for lunch.

He may have just had pancakes, but he's earned a good sandwich after that.

And if he hides out for a while to avoid his family, well, that's his business.

When he finally returns to the dining room, his sister and his father are gone, but Moira is still seated, her glasses perched on her nose and a teacup raised to her lips. "You know, dear," she starts, her eyes not leaving the page, "you and I are rather similar. And I see quite a bit of your father in Patrick."

"Don't need that!" he jokes, trying to end the conversation.

His mother just lifts her eyes to him. "He sees you, David. For all that you are." She waits a beat to let that settle before continuing, "You're happier. And I, for one, could never ask for more for my offspring than that."

He glares at his sandwich on the plate, his appetite gone. "My life is in New York. His is here. We don't... we don't _fit_."

"Yes, I thought the same of your father when we first met. Turns out, I rather like it here. It's quiet, and I have my bridegroom with me." She takes another sip, red lips pursed around the rim of the teacup. "I once thought it impossible to leave Hollywood behind, with all its glitz and glamour. But when your father knelt down and asked me to spend my days by his side, I knew there was nowhere else I'd rather be." She purses her lips, as if deep in thought. "And there are many lovely activities in which one can find artistic fulfillment in this town." She looks at him, knowingly. "Sometimes you need to just lean in and let life happen, David. Even if it's not quite how you'd planned it."

He nods and heads upstairs without a word.

He can eat in his room, just this once.

\---

**Seven Years Ago:** **_December 2011_ **

# Patrick

####  **Dec 24, 2011,** 10:17 PM

Patrick
    I guess you're not coming home this year? 

####  **Dec 25, 2011,** 3:04 PM

David
    no couldnt make it

Patrick
    Okay, David. Merry Christmas.

####  **Dec 25, 2011,** 5:10 PM

David
    you too

\---

**Now:** **_December 18, 2018_ **

"So, what exactly are we on the hunt for here?" David says the moment Patrick puts his car in park.

"Nothing in particular, just thought it'd be nice to wander."

David makes a displeased noise, and pointedly ignores the way Patrick's eyes go soft at that. "Mm, no, we need a plan of attack or else we will miss things. I think we should find hot chocolate first, of course—"

"Oh, of course."

"Please don't interrupt."

Patrick barks out a soft laugh but gestures for him to continue.

"So, _as I was saying_ , we find hot chocolate first, then I think we should go to the end of the row and make our way up one side, then back down again on the other side, and maybe stop for hot chocolate again. Then we do the next aisle the same way, before stopping for hot chocolate for the road and seriously, please stop looking at me like that, it's highly distracting to my strategizing."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like you're getting turned on by this!"

"I am!" Patrick laughs.

David breathes out a soft, "Oh," and bites back his smile.

Which is apparently all the permission Patrick needed to lean forward and gently pull David in for a kiss, which, despite saying he's turned on, is gentle and sweet and David can taste the earl grey on his lips and _god_ , he could get so used to this.

"I can't help it that I find planning sexy," Patrick whispers when he pulls away.

Then he flashes David a wicked smile and steps out of the car.

And of course, David follows. Even though it's cold and snowy out there and his shoes are absolutely going to get ruined by the salty slush of the parking lot, but what is he supposed to do, send Patrick, in that absurdly flattering navy peacoat, out there all alone to get hit on by some ruggedly sexy husband-material vendor who like, makes handcrafted blown glass Christmas tree ornaments or something?

Honestly, he probably should, but he's selfish and he wants as many of these days with Patrick as he can get. So he steps out of the car and gingerly steps over a puddle, not even realizing that instinct led him to take Patrick's outstretched hand, offered out to help him balance, until their arms fall to the side and Patrick doesn't let go, instead lacing their fingers together.

They walk slowly toward the booths, hands gently swinging between them, until they find hot chocolate and are forced to untangle so Patrick can dig out his wallet.

And they follow David's suggested footpath, chatting easily about the last season of _The Great British Baking Show_ and casually touching each other at every opportunity — hands on shoulders while looking at scarves made from cat hair; Patrick's guiding hand on the small of David's back as they squeeze past a large group; David squeezing Patrick's elbow when he finds a nice necklace for Marcy.

They're at a booth full of goat's milk personal care products when it occurs to him. "You should sell some of this stuff at the general store."

"What stuff, Body Milk?" Patrick glances over to make sure the seller is out of ear shot, dropping his voice down to whisper anyway because he's a nice person who would never want to hurt a stranger's feelings. "I don't even know what that is, do you drink it?"

David laughs. "No, it's liquid moisturizer."

"Okay, but it doesn't _say_ that, so how do you _know_?"

"What else would it be if not _milk_ for your _body_?"

Patrick shrugs. "A protein shake?"

David gasps in horror. "It's... it's _not_ a _protein shake_ , Patrick!"

"How do you _know_ though?" he responds with an eyebrow quirked up and a smile threatening to give him away.

"Because I'm not a fucking idiot!"

Patrick laughs and the seller comes over to see if they need any help, and even though David doesn't _need_ a new body moisturizer, he buys the body milk to prove a point.

And then he can't stop thinking about it.

He sees handmade leather journals at another booth and grabs their card. There's a stained glass artist setup with some lovely phallic pieces and David gets theirs, as well. He picks up a cute twig pencil for Alexis, now that she's decided to be "a major girl boss with a gorgeous home office setup" or whatever. A woman has samples of some _truly_ delicious goat cheeses set up, and David grabs a log of chèvre, even though he's not normally a fan. There are some nice bath salts and bath bombs that a sweet couple from Elm Glen have put together in cute gifts that would be such great holiday items for Patrick to stock.

And it's a bit too close to what they'd talked about exactly once years ago, but it doesn't hurt like he thought it might.

Patrick carries his bags without him even asking and slips his hand back into David's and it's even easier to pretend that this is normal, that this is _real_.

"Hey," Patrick says with a casual hand on David's hip to get his attention, "I'm gonna run these to the car and meet you back here? We can get a hot chocolate for the road."

"Sounds great," David says, dismissing him, as he's distracted by some beautiful handcrafted jewelry.

Patrick laughs and drops a kiss to his cheek.

"You and your partner are good together," the woman on the other side of the table tells him. "You light up when you look at each other. How long have you been together?"

It's easier to just tell her the truth than to correct her assumption. "I've been in love with him since I was 16."

"That's lovely! My husband and I were high school sweethearts, too. He says he always knew I was the one, I just took a bit longer to get my shit together," she tells him with a wink. "You're lucky not to have those missing years."

He blinks back the tears that have suddenly sprung up and forces a smile. "Mm! Yes. I'm... I'm very lucky to have him."

He buys a pair of earrings on a whim, just to make sure the conversation ends before Patrick returns, and runs through his list of gift recipients to decide who to give them to. He'll probably just end up forcing Stevie to take them off his hands, even though he doesn't think he's ever seen her wear earrings.

David is thanking her as Patrick walks back up, sliding an arm around David's waist and squeezing gently, before smiling at the woman and pulling David to the left.

"The hot chocolate is the other way," he whines.

"I know, David. I wanna show you something first."

They make their way down a narrow but maintained path through the pines, and just as David is about to ask if Patrick is going to dump his body here in the woods (okay it's a small grove of trees in a municipal park, but _still_ ), they break through the tree line to see a pond, moonlight reflecting on the surface and the snow in the treetops glittering.

"I can't believe this hasn't frozen over," David says. "It's like, ten below."

Patrick laughs. "It's _barely_ freezing. Besides, our winters aren't long enough for it to freeze over. We only get like a week of cold here every year."

David just nods, taking in the serene moment, with the man he loves holding his hand.

He didn't think he'd ever get to experience a moment like this, so he's not going to waste it arguing about the weather.

"I'm not mad at you, you know," Patrick tells him, his voice quiet. "For what happened last year."

That's not what he expected him to say. "Why not? I would be."

He feels Patrick's shoulders shrug. "It was... a lot."

"It wasn't."

Patrick leans forward and presses a kiss to his shoulder, so intimate and gentle that David is on the verge of telling him everything. "It was. It was... selfish of me, to put that on you. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for that, Patrick, _Jesus_ , you're so self-sacrificing, I—"

"Hey," he interrupts, pulling David's hand to force him to face him. "I'm not being self-sacrificing. I knew what this was. I... I just shouldn't have put that pressure on you, and I'm sorry for that. That's all."

"Well," David says. "There's no need to apologize. I... I don't hate knowing that. It... it's made the last year a little easier."

Patrick's lips quirk up just a bit at the corners. "Wish I had something like that. I spent the whole last year terrified I'd never see you again."

David just nods and nods, avoiding Patrick's big eyes. "If you _do_ need something like that then I guess..." He takes a deep breath. "It's the same? For me?" His voice inflects up as if it's a question, even though it's not.

"Really?" Patrick asks, sarcastic disbelief dripping from the word.

"I mean, not _exactly_ the same, obviously, no one _proposed_ to me, but I... the time I get to spend with you, it-it's important to me, too."

Patrick smirks at him, dropping his hand to rest his hands on David's hips. "Was that difficult? Admitting something so _emotional_?"

"Shut up."

Patrick does, but only because he pulls David in for a kiss, right there in the silent moonlight.

\---

**Six Years Ago:** **_October-December 2012_ **

# Stevie

####  **Oct 31, 2012,** 11:04 PM

Stevie
     happy halloween im drunk and your boy is here with his new bf

David
    what

Stevie
    IMG_6734.jpg
    we met him doing cabaret he helped us with chores
    fuck, i mean chores
    ***CHOREO ffs

David
    thats nice. hes hot.

Stevie
    yeah but patrick doesnt love him

David
     drink some water and dont drive home, im turning off my phone now

Stevie
    you ok?

####  **Nov 1, 2012,** 9:13 AM

Stevie
    fuck david im sorry i was trying to break the news gently before christmas

####  **Nov 2, 2012,** 10:45 AM

    you okay? im sorry

####  **Nov 2, 2012,** 2:26 PM

David
    ya im fine

Stevie
    you still coming home this year?

David
    no, cant make it

Stevie
    i know you already bought your ticket
    come on, david, you cant expect him to stay single forever just in case you want to hook up with him for a week
    seriously?
    im letting this slide because i know how you feel about him even if you wont admit it, but this is a dick move, even for you, and i feel obligated to let you know

####  **Dec 25, 2012,** 4:18 PM

Stevie
    merry christmas, asshole

David
    merry christmas

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Oct 14, 2012,** 11:17 PM

Patrick
    I'm just getting out of rehearsal, your mother is a ruthless dictator
    Whoops, *director

David
    mmhmm im sure that was a typo

Patrick
    😉

####  **Oct 20, 2012,** 7:58 PM

Patrick
    Hey! I'm here.
    Shit, sorry, wrong person.

David
    no worries

####  **Dec 22, 2012,** 4:32 PM

Patrick
    Merry Christmas, David!

`merry christmas, patrick`

\---

**Now:** **_December 19, 2018_ **

David stops just outside, admiring Patrick through the window as he hunches over a binder at the counter, rubber thimbles on his thumb and forefinger. The bell chimes overhead when David pushes open the door, and Patrick's eyes flick up, momentarily irritated before softening into something gentle when his gaze lands on him.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"What are you doing?"

"Working," he jokes.

"Well," David starts, holding up a bag from the café, "do you have time to take a break?"

Patrick smiles softly. "Give me ten minutes? I promised Cathy I'd email her this afternoon."

"Who's Cathy?"

"We met her last night, she makes the bath salts."

He's surprised by this. "And you're emailing her because...?"

Patrick looks deeply amused by David and he has to admit (just to himself, though) how much he loves that expression on Patrick's face. "Like you said yesterday, they make great gifts. I'm actually getting in touch with everyone we met. You made some good connections, so thank you. I've been trying to figure out what to do with this place and you lit the lightbulb."

David swallows down the lump in his throat, forcing himself not to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but instead shimmies his shoulders as he steps behind the counter, crowding Patrick against it, and jokes, "Mm, so you're saying I turn you on?"

Patrick smirks and leans forward to kiss him, and it's just this side of hot, his mouth slightly open and his tongue just grazing David's before he pulls back and tells him, "I have to finish this inventory before I decide how many bath products I can logistically stock."

David runs a hand over Patrick's chest, coming to rest on his shoulder, and asks, "Isn't that something you can deal with later?"

"No, I gotta have a ballpark figure before I ask her to come on as a vendor—" He can tell Patrick is amused, and trying not to give in, which just makes him slide one hand down to graze over Patrick's nipple, and he revels in the harsh intake of breath. "David, come _on_ , five minutes?"

David takes a step back and grabs the food off the counter. "Better than ten, I suppose. I'll be in the back with lunch whenever you're ready."

He disappears through the curtain and pulls out his phone, mindlessly scrolling Instagram as he listens to Patrick flip the pages in his cute little inventory binder before clacking away on his laptop.

After four minutes, he hears the laptop shut and Patrick lock the door and flip the sign before he comes through the curtain and beelines for David, dropping to straddle his lap.

"Hi," David greets him, smug.

"Shut up," Patrick says, grinding down and kissing him hard.

"Mm," David hums, pulling away with a smirk. "Your lunch is getting cold, we should eat."

Patrick just unbuttons David's pants and slides a hand inside. "It's already cold, lunch can wait."

"Yeah, it's just — oh, _fuck_ — the café had the chicken special and... _shit_ , fine, okay, lunch can wait."

He lifts up and flips them so Patrick is on his back against the cushions, and he's never going to get over how Patrick looks at him when David goes down on him, all fond disbelief and pleasure. And he's definitely never going to get over how Patrick looks at him when he returns the favor, his mouth stretched around David and his eyes staring up at him like he's committing the moment to memory.

And it's over embarrassingly quick, but he curls up on Patrick's chest for a moment, both of their pants bunched at their thighs, the feeling of their softening cocks pressed together familiarly comforting to David.

"You should get some nicer displays," he says, his filter shot post-sex.

"Mm?"

"For the store. Some antique furniture or something. Those utilitarian shelves will not properly show off Cathy's bath salts."

Patrick hums, running a finger along the nape of David's neck softly. "You're probably right."

"I know I'm right."

Patrick laughs, the sound warm against David's ear. "Wanna come with me to the antique mall tomorrow? Just to help me get some ideas so I can properly outfit the place after you leave."

It's like a bucket of cold water, the reminder that he won't get to keep prancing around the Greater Elms on Patrick's arm, passing him off as his partner. The calendar is racing toward January 2nd and he _hates_ it. "You know I'll have strong opinions about the aesthetic."

Patrick kisses his hair. "I'm counting on it."

David gives himself another minute in Patrick's arms before insisting they get dressed. They eat lunch with easy small talk, and David tells him he has plans with his family that night.

He _doesn't_ tell him that his father said to invite Patrick to dinner.

\---

**Five Years Ago:** **_January-December 2013_ **

# Patrick

####  **Jan 1, 2013,** 12:07 AM

Patrick
    Happy New Year, David! Wasn't the same here without you this year.

####  **Jul 2, 2013,** 12:01 AM

Patrick
    Happy Birthday!!!

####  **Aug 14, 2013,** 3:17 PM

Patrick
    Just spotted Gwen at Brebner's picking up an entire cart full of enemas and cheap lube and this felt like information you would absolutely want to know.

####  **Sep 29, 2013,** 5:44 PM

Patrick
    ghwugh irghwri irhgiruwavm

####  **Sep 29, 2013,** 6:27 PM

Patrick
    Shoot, sorry, my phone was unlocked in my gym bag. Hope you're well.

####  **Oct 31, 2013,** 11:44 PM

Patrick
    Happy Halloween! IBM drunk an I miss yo. Derek is dressed yup ass a pirate and it'd corny and you'd gate it and that'd all o can think about. I miss you. I says that already. Bye.

####  **Nov 1, 2013,** 2:13 PM

Patrick
    Oh my god I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to drunk text you. Hope you had a better Halloween than I did.

####  **Dec 16, 2013,** 8:11 AM

Patrick
    ghrueir rkjnbhbhhhhhhh

####  **Dec 16, 2013,** 10:16 AM

Patrick
    Shit, sorry, left my phone unlocked in my gym bag again. But I've been meaning to reach out and ask if you're coming home for Christmas this year?

####  **Dec 25, 2013,** 1:47 PM

Patrick
    Merry Christmas, David.

\---

**Now:** **_December 21, 2018_ **

There's a knock at the door and David groans, the world slowing down as he watches his father step over to answer it.

He pointedly ignores the warmth at Patrick coming to the side garage door instead of the front door, his familiarity and comfort with this place threatening to make David smile even through his horror at the thought of his father greeting Patrick before their date.

Or hang. Casual friend hang. Whatever.

"Patrick! Hi! It's good to see you, son!"

David refuses to admit that he has to swallow down some unnamed emotion at that one three-letter word falling easily from his father's mouth when speaking to Patrick.

"Mr. Rose! Good to see you. Is David home? I'm forcing him to take me shopping for some fixtures to spruce up the store a bit."

"Oh, there's an idea! David does have such a great eye for design. You should see his apartment in New York, it's very tastefully—"

"Okay, Dad, I think that's enough," David interjects, hurrying over to cut him off. He pats his father on the shoulder before turning to Patrick. "Shall we?"

Patrick turns that bright smile toward him and extends an elbow for him to take, and David decides at that moment that he's going to take what he can get. If he and Patrick just hang out for a couple weeks every December, it'll be enough. As long as he keeps getting to look at that smile.

And one day, Patrick will meet someone that he can fall in love with, and David will... David will have weeks worth of memories to look back on and remember a time when someone good and decent and nice thought he was worthy of smiles like that. And that'll be enough.

"Curfew is 11, son!" Johnny calls after them, thinking he's very funny.

"Oh my _god_ ," David hisses as Patrick just laughs and tugs him along, opening the passenger door for him.

He watches, indignant, as Patrick waves at Johnny before sliding into the driver's seat and finally, _finally_ pulling out of the driveway and getting David away from this place.

"So where exactly are we going and will I need protective cleaning gloves because I forgot to have Stevie drop mine off."

"Stevie has your gloves?"

David waves him off. "I help her with maintenance at the motel sometimes, so the gloves live there. It's not like I'm not gonna take them home with me!"

Patrick shifts in his seat. "I would assume you have a pair at home. For cleaning."

"My parents have a housekeeper, you know this."

"I meant in New York."

"Oh."

It's silent for a moment.

"I wouldn't know, I've never been invited to come see your 'tastefully decorated' apartment."

It sounds bitter. David can't acknowledge that. "Because it's a glorified closet."

"It's nice, though," Patrick says, his voice soft. It sounds far away, even though he's right next to him. "That you think of this place as home."

David doesn't know if Patrick means Schitt's Creek or his parents' house. It's another thing he can't acknowledge. "You could, you know."

"Could what?"

"Come see my apartment. Sometime. If you... if you wanted to."

Patrick's grip tightens on the steering wheel, and before David knows it, he's turning into the Schitt's Creek High School parking lot without even signaling and throwing the car in park, unworried about the lines painted on the asphalt.

David can see the bleachers from here. His eyes linger on the spot where he stood on Prom night and kissed Patrick for the first time, and he can't find a word for the feeling in his chest.

"You can't _do_ that, David," Patrick practically hisses.

His eyes snap to Patrick. His face is serious, and maybe a little pained. It makes David want to apologize, but he's not sure he's done anything wrong. "Do _what_?"

"Ask me to... ask me to come _visit you_! Not when you've been pushing me away for the last decade." He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, and he lets go of the steering wheel, flexing his fingers a bit. "Look, I know what this is between us. I'm not an idiot. I know, okay? And it's fine, it really is, I would never ask you to—" He sighs again, and David feels the ache of it fill his own chest. "Just... don't make plans we can't keep, okay?"

Okay, _that_ he... maybe should apologize for. "I'm sorry."

Patrick bites his lip and rubs one thumb into the palm of his other hand. It's a self-soothing gesture he's been doing since they were kids, and it makes David's heart melt a little that he can recognize it, that their lives are so entwined that he can clock it as a habit. "No, I'm—"

"Patrick, shut up and let me apologize, okay?"

His head snaps up, his eyes meeting David's and softening, a little hint of exasperated amusement sparkling in his expression. He mimes zipping his lips and gestures for David to continue. It's endearingly immature and it reminds David of secrets whispered on the playground.

"Listen, I've... I've never been good at this. Relationships in general, but especially with you. But I care about you. And I... I know we can't— I know your life is here and mine's not, and we can't... _have_ this, for real. But whatever we _can_ have? Here? Or if you came to see me? I want that. I want as much time with you as you'll let me have."

"David..."

"And one day, when you meet someone who can be here? And you..." He swallows. "I'll just be happy I got this."

Patrick practically throws himself into David's lap, kissing him hard, and any thoughts of Patrick being with some hypothetical person in the future are chased out of David's mind by Patrick's soft lips and talented tongue that has mapped David's mouth so thoroughly he knows every spot that makes his knees weak.

"So we're doing this? For real this time?" Patrick asks when he pulls away. "At least, until the 2nd?"

David nods. "Yeah. Until... until the 2nd."

Patrick kisses him again and David feels something slide into place for him. He shoves the thought away, refusing to let himself miss Patrick while he still has him in his arms and on his lap. Not while he's chasing the taste of chamomile on his tongue.

"I'm gonna date the hell out of you for the next two weeks, David Rose," Patrick mumbles against his mouth. "You're gonna get wined and dined so hard."

David grins. "Can't wait."

They eventually disentangle themselves from each other, and things are easier after that. Like a storm breaking up after days of dark skies. They hold hands over the center console and fight over control of the radio and Patrick leans over for soft kisses at every red light and David leans his temple against Patrick's bicep at one point, just reveling in the "relationship" of it all.

It becomes almost too much to bear when they're in the antique mall, looking at furniture to fill the general store with, when David spots a beautiful hutch tucked into a back corner.

"This is nice!" he exclaims, hands running over the worn wood and... ugh. "I mean, the fucking _chalkboard paint_ restoration is a travesty, but it's in good shape."

"It's _purple_ , David."

He winces. "Yes, yeah, I can see that, Patrick, thanks so much." He shoots him a wicked smirk before crouching to inspect the underside. "It's not even well-done! Fucking _Pinterest_ ," he hisses, before running his thumbnail along one edge of the underside of one shelf, just barely scraping off some paint. "I don't think they even sanded it down first. But it has good lines. The shelves are shallow, but they'd make a great display with the offset cubbies. You could strip the paint and refinish it and it would be _beautiful_."

David stands and readjusts his sweater, turning to face Patrick, who is looking at him like he's the most brilliant person on the planet.

"Wow."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just..." Patrick places his hands on either side of David's face and pulls him in for a firm kiss. "I would've walked right past that. Because it's purple."

David waves him off. "It's just paint. It's all surface. You need to look deeper and figure out if there's anything worth salvaging underneath. This piece is solid and well-made, it just needs some care."

Patrick smiles at him. "Yeah."

"It's work, but that's what people like Jake are for, honestly."

"I think I'll put in the work myself on this one."

"Ew, why?"

Patrick shrugs. "I like doing the work. If it's worth it." He glances back at David. "I think this one is."

David feels like he's missing something, but he just purses his lips and moves on. "Okay, well, there are still plenty of other pieces to look at that may not need as much work."

"Nope, I'm all set. I want that one."

"Patrick, it's gonna take like—"

"Don't care. I want that one."

"You're a child!"

Patrick just kisses his cheek and tells him to guard the hutch with his life before going off in search of an employee.

Once the hutch is paid for and delivery set up for the 2nd (and David swallows down the bile in his throat, knowing he won't be here to see it fixed up and beautiful), they're back on the road.

"Lunch?"

David forces down the sick feelings clawing their way up — the thrill of knowing a piece of him will stay here, in that store, in Patrick's space; the satisfied accomplishment at finding the perfect piece; the strange longing he feels about all the ideas he has for this store, some of which he's been perfecting for years; the anxiety about losing this. "Lunch would be great."

\---

**Four Years Ago:** **_August 2014_ **

# Stevie

####  **Aug 5, 2014,** 7:43 PM

Stevie
    patrick and derek broke up. just fyi.

####  **Aug 12, 2014,** 8:56 AM

David
    important question: do i order pesto pasta for dinner or baked ziti

\---

**Now:** **_December 22, 2018_ **

If there's one thing Twyla can do, it's throw a party.

Maybe it's because she has access to the only real space in town for a clean(ish), catered(ish), open(ish) bar party, but still. David enjoys her parties.

Which is shocking, since he regularly attends swanky, well-catered gallery openings and art shows and yeah the occasional classy orgy where Dom Pérignon flows freely and no one is wearing a polyester blend (or anything at all).

But there's something about the lights strung up in the café, and the crabcakes and the zhampagne that makes David feel… nice.

Particularly this year, with Patrick's arm around his waist and a smile thrown over his shoulder. With Patrick pressing soft kisses against the underside of his jaw as he sweeps them around the room. With Patrick laughing against his side when Ted makes a terrible pun. Just… with Patrick in general.

It feels nice. Nicer than it has in recent years, at least. Nicer than last year, when he and Patrick were pretending they weren't going to go home together after. Or two years ago, when David's dad wasn't able to make it.

But this year… this year, he has Patrick tucked under his arm, and they spend the evening joking with their parents, and Twyla, and Stevie, and Alexis, and Ted, and Rachel, and it's _nice_.

Dancing with Patrick feels nice.

They sway to "Brighter Than Sunshine" in each other's arms and they dance to "Precious Love" with their mothers, and there's a fantasy of… well, of something David refuses to think about, itching at the back of his skull.

And when Patrick pulls him close and somehow turns Tina Turner's "The Best" into a song they can slow dance to, and kisses him right there in front of the entire town, casually, like it's a normal thing that they do, well...

It feels cozy.

It might even feel like home. David doesn't think he knows what home feels like anymore, though, so he can't be sure.


	3. it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for this chapter: parental illness and medical scares. jump to the end notes for details.

**Three Years Ago:** **_December 22, 2015_ **

David steps outside of his parents' house and takes a deep breath as he sits on the top step. God, it's been five years since he was last here, but it smells the exact fucking same. The air smells cold, the slightest hint of decaying elm leaves still on the breeze, but mostly, it smells like a blanket of freezing snow. Just like his childhood, he thinks bitterly.

On the other side of the door, his father is sleeping off the excitement of the last two days. David _wishes_ he could. He hasn't slept a wink since he got the call from Alexis that Johnny was having a heart attack. He had thrown clothes into a bag — something he has _never_ done in his life — and booked the next flight out, not even caring that the only seat available was a middle seat in coach. He didn't even get the "He's fine and recovering" text until he landed.

The heart attack was minor, but David wasn't prepared for how fucking _terrified_ he was. Or for how guilty he felt.

He hasn't been back here in five years, and why? Because there's a cute boy that he can't be with that he might run into here? Pathetic.

He's grateful that his parents have money. Enough that he's still seen his family over the last five years. They visit him in New York and splash out on fancy hotel rooms. He sees his dad the most, considering he has meetings with the Rosebud Motel Group investors every quarter and always makes time to take David out for lunch or dinner on each visit.

But it's not the same as being _here_ , where he grew up. In their home.

His childhood might have been cold and sad and distant, even in a town as perpetually warm (emotionally and climatically) as Schitt's Creek, but it's still home. It's still his family.

David rests his forehead on his knees and breathes.

He heard the quiet creak of the door behind him and a soft, "Hey," as Alexis plops down next to him.

"Hey."

"He's gonna be sleeping for a while. You should go take a nap or something."

"I'm not tired."

"You haven't slept in two days."

"Well, my record is four when I had a terrible panic attack two years ago, so this is nothing."

"Panic attacks aren't real, David."

He glances up and sees the hint of a smile on his sister's face at the old joke, one they've been swapping since he was diagnosed with anxiety at fourteen years old.

He smiles back. "I think I might go for a walk, actually."

"Do you want company?"

He hears the concern in her voice, but shakes his head. "No, um, I think it'll help me clear my head to—"

Both of their faces snap forward at the sound of a car approaching down their driveway, and David feels the same panic grip his spine at the sight of Clint Brewer's old truck.

"David..." Alexis starts, resting a hand on his arm. "Do you want to go inside?"

He's frozen, like the cold air around him, and he doesn't even shake his head, just watches as Patrick steps out of the truck before reaching in and grabbing something before he makes his way toward the garage entrance.

Then he glances up and stumbles over his next step, nearly slipping on the snow-packed walkway. David can't take his eyes off of him, watching as Patrick changes course to come up the front walkway instead.

"Hi," David croaks.

"Hi," it comes out on a breath, and David is instantly transported to a handful of familiar horizontal surfaces — his bed, Patrick's bed, the Brewers' basement couch, the bed of the very truck Patrick just pulled up in — when he'd heard that same gasping hitch in Patrick's throat.

They stare at each other for a moment, Alexis momentarily forgotten, before Patrick blinks and shakes his head, holding out the container in his hands. "I, um... lasagna?"

What? "Lasagna?"

"I figured you guys needed dinner."

"We have a cook."

"David, oh my _god_ , don't be rude," Alexis chides, before standing and taking the container from Patrick's hands and when the fuck did he get within arm's reach? "Thank you, Patrick. I'm just going to... go take this inside."

She throws David a pointed look before disappearing back behind the front door.

David watches Patrick shove his hands into his pockets and rock up on the balls of his feet, nervous energy rolling off of him in waves.

His dad almost died less than 48 hours ago but here he is, wanting to comfort Patrick Brewer.

"It's good to see you."

"Is it?" David quips.

One corner of Patrick's mouth quirks up. "Yeah, David. It's always good to see you." Patrick lets that settle between them for a moment, knowing that David needs a moment to absorb sincerity. He both loves and hates that Patrick still knows him so well. "Are you okay?"

"No," David says, honestly, his voice cracking.

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

"Yes."

Patrick reaches out and pulls David to his feet, his hands still callused in all the places David memorized nine summers ago. It makes David ache.

He helps David into the truck like the kind gentleman he's always been, and David feels himself being ripped open at it. He doesn't know how he went five years without him.

They're halfway across town before David speaks up. "I was going to go for a walk."

"Is a drive okay? I can stop and we can get out and wa—"

"This is fine."

Patrick nods and taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he rolls to a stop at one of the town's rare intersections. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care."

Patrick makes a decision and turns left, before pulling up to a short apartment building and putting the truck in park.

"Is this okay?"

"Is this your place?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

Patrick cocks his head at him. "What else would this be?"

David shrugs. "Murder factory? I don't know."

Patrick laughs, the sound bright and warm in David's ear, so different from the cold silence at his parents' house, cut through only by the occasional and dramatic wails of his mother.

He lets the sound carry him inside and upstairs and through Patrick's door, before coming to a stop as he takes it in.

"Nice IKEA art."

Patrick smirks. "Well, I'd love some real art, but I don't have any connections with dealers, you know."

"Mm. I love the New York photos."

His smile falls at that and he rubs at the back of his neck. "Ah, yeah, it uh... I liked knowing that you were there, ya know? Like... like having you here. Kind of."

It makes no sense, how mass produced prints of tourist traps he avoids like the plague make Patrick feel like he's with David.

It also makes perfect sense, and David has no choice but to kiss him, his mouth desperate and mapping Patrick's out of sheer muscle memory.

He nudges Patrick further into the apartment, leading them toward the bed, and pulls him down on top of him, needing his weight pressing him down.

David lets go of his hands and presses up against him, fighting just a little, needing Patrick to hold him there, to hold him together.

And Patrick, being the perfect person he is, complies.

He presses David back gently, his hands firm and confident on his body as he pulls his sweater off carefully, then his pants, before standing up and folding them, resting them on a chair next to the bed that David wildly thinks for a moment must have been Derek's makeshift nightstand.

Before David can even miss his touch, he's pulling off his own clothes and pressing back against him, his hands everywhere and perfect.

"What do you want, David?" he pants into his ear as he ruts against him, David reveling in the feeling of his hard length against his own.

"Fuck me," he says back. "Please, Patrick, I—"

Patrick kisses him, hard, and reaches into his own nightstand for the lube, before pressing two fingers inside of him, knowing David needs the almost-too-much of the stretch at the moment.

"More," he groans after a minute.

"David, are you sure, you—"

"More, Patrick."

Patrick adds a third, and David feels it through his whole body, pushing him open, his mind blissfully, mercifully blank for the first time in days, but for a litany of _Patrick, Patrick, Patrick_.

Then he's gone, and David feels empty, and he whines pitifully before Patrick lays a hand against his jaw and kisses him. "I just need to put a condom on," he whispers.

David nods, supposing this is fine, and he waits for seconds that feel like an eternity until Patrick is back in his rightful place above him, dribbling more cold lube on David and lining himself up before pressing into him.

And oh, _god_ , if he thought the winter air from his parents' porch smelled like home, it's nothing compared to what he finds when he buries his nose against Patrick's neck.

 _He's home, he's home, he's home_.

Patrick drives into him, steady and hard and unrelenting, and David takes it and takes it and begs for more and takes that too, until he can't take any more and he comes with a loud sob, Patrick following immediately behind.

But the sob doesn't stop, and David can't _breathe_ , and he wraps his arms around Patrick's neck and his legs around Patrick's waist and chases that scent of _home_ on his skin as he clings to him, and he _keeps sobbing_.

"David, shh, it's okay, sweetheart," he hears, and it's a term of endearment he hasn't realized he _missed_ so much in the last five years, and it does nothing to stop his crying.

He feels Patrick lift his hips and pull out gently, and he hears the disgusting wet _slap_ of the condom on Patrick's beautiful original hardwood floors, and under any other circumstance, he would reprimand him for it, but right now, he just clings to Patrick like a lifeline and sobs into his pale skin.

"I'm sorry," he says later, when the sun has dipped lower in the sky and shifted the shadows in the room and his sobs are finally, finally dying down into pitiful hiccups and wet sniffles.

"Don't apologize, David, it's fi—"

"No. I'm sorry for the last five years, I shouldn't have avoided... I just— It was too much."

"Which part?"

David shrugs and pulls back a little. Patrick hands him a tissue, his eyes big and round and so full of _good_ and _nice_ and _kind_ and _caring_ that David doesn't even want to blink, afraid of losing that gaze for even a millisecond. "All of it."

Patrick nods, and wraps his arms gently around David's waist, not even caring about the mostly-dried come on his belly, and holds him tight. "Water under the bridge, David," he tells him, kissing his forehead. "You okay?"

David shakes his head. "No. But I'm a little bit better now."

It's the most honest he's been with someone, even his therapist, in years.

\---

**Now:** **_December 23, 2018_ **

Stuffed from six delicious courses prepared by the Roses' cook, and loosened from several bottles of fine wine from the Roses' cellar, they move their party to the living room, where Moira has insisted upon charades, in order to "keep those acting muscles toned and ready for use at a moment's notice."

David doesn't mention that she basically quit acting 30 years ago when she moved here and started focusing her energy on the town council and directing the spring musical and fall play at Town Hall, save for the occasional indie feature that keeps her just in the spotlight enough that she still trotted out her kids for photo ops in their youth, but allows her to live here in relative privacy, away from the prying lenses of the paparazzi.

But his mother lights up when she performs, so he lets it slide. Just this once.

Until Patrick's competitive side comes out and he and David end up screaming at each other over what constitutes as the correct charade-ing of "cowboy."

"I'm getting a refill. Make sure _this_ guy," he says, gesturing to Patrick's general form, "is back in the box when I return."

"Come on, David...!" Patrick calls behind him. "Can you at least get me another beer?"

"Get it yourself, I _doubt_ I'd do it right, according to your standards!" he shouts back as he storms off.

David is huffing his way through opening a new bottle and pouring a glass, chugging it down, and pouring another, when his mother walks in, demure smile gracing her red lips.

"What," he snaps at her.

His mother just looks at him. "You seem happy."

David sneers. "Funny."

She shakes her head. "No, dear, I don't mean at this moment. At this moment, you seem agitated and deeply irked by sweet Pat's behavior."

"Okay, we're _not_ calling him sweet right now." He takes a swig of his drink, before topping it off again. "Or Pat," he tags on.

Moira smiles. "You seem happier where it matters. You're irritated at the moment, but you are still happier than you were when you arrived last week." She gestures toward the living room. "I think it might have something to do with your button-faced dinner date?"

He waves her off, and is about to deny it, when he hears a voice behind him.

"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Rose. I didn't see you come in here."

Her eyes sparkling, she replied, "Nonsense, dear. I was just checking in on my David. You two take as much time as you need getting those drinks."

She glances back at David one last time, before slipping back out of the room, leaving him alone with Patrick.

"David, I'm sorry."

He clenches his jaw. "Oh, whatever for? For insinuating I'm too stupid to understand what a 'gas pump' is? Or for shouting out a stream of wrong answers so Stevie couldn't get a guess in edgewise and costing us the round?"

Patrick smiles gently, and slips his arms around David's waist. His arms settle over Patrick's shoulders out of instinct and he curses himself for it. He's _supposed_ to be mad at him. "I'm sorry for letting my competitive side come out tonight. I didn't mean to yell at you. We're good at winding each other up."

David bites back his comment at the innuendo. He's still mad. "Yeah, I don't like _him_ ," he says.

Patrick grins at him. "You're just as bad."

"Not a chance."

He raises one sparse eyebrow, before quoting, "' _What the fuck is that, Patrick?' 'Do you even understand the game, Patrick?' 'It's a fucking_ spinning wheel _, Patrick.'_ "

David pulls his lips between his teeth. "Oh, well, yes. You have made some points."

Patrick runs one palm soothingly up and down David's back, before bringing it to rest between his shoulder blades and drawing him closer. "Maybe we should just avoid gameplay for a while?"

"Well, as long as we still get competitive in bed."

"Oh, yeah, I don't see that changing any time soon," Patrick responds, leaning up to press a kiss against David's lips.

They stay there in the kitchen for a while, kissing gently and chatting quietly, before rejoining the group but sitting out from the next round in favor of curling up on the same armchair and sipping their drinks in quiet contentment.

And when he kisses Patrick goodnight at the door a few hours later, his mother's words ring in his head.

He thinks she might be right. He's definitely happier now than he was a week ago.

\---

**Three Years Ago:** **_December 23, 2015_ **

"Wha're d'n?" Patrick mumbles into his side.

"Work email."

Patrick snuffles and tucks further against him for a moment, before pressing a kiss to his ribs and getting out of bed. "I'll make coffee."

David hums in acknowledgement, his thumbs tapping away on the screen as he deal with yet _another_ fucking artist pulling out of the exhibition despite the fucking _contracts_ he fucking _made sure they fucking signed_.

The blue screen of his phone illuminates his face in the dark, too early on a winter morning for David's liking. He can't quite make out Patrick's nearly-nude form in the kitchen, but he can hear him setting up coffee to brew.

It's... nice. It's domestic, in a way.

He'd enjoy it a lot more if this _fucking_ sculptor weren't trying to fuck him over last-second.

Patrick comes back with coffee for David in a travel mug, a kiss to his forehead, and something about going for a run.

David doesn't really hear him, focused on ripping this agent a new asshole for trying to renege on this contract.

Eventually, he reaches a conclusion on the email and blinks, his eyes dry, and looks up.

The morning sunlight is crawling across the floor, and he glances at the alarm clock.

He's spent two hours dealing with this.

David groans, and is just about to get out of bed so he doesn't disturb Patrick's morning when he hears his keys in the door. _Shit._

"Oh, good, you're still here. How'd it go?" Patrick asks, his breathing heavy and his skin glistening in the blue early morning glow seeping in through his windows. David watches as he bends over to dig through the fridge, his running shorts hugging his ass delectably, before emerging victorious with his water filter.

He pours a glass and takes a gulp, some water dribbling down along his throat and that's about all David can take.

"Can you just get naked already?"

Patrick grins at him, but steps closer. "I dunno, David, I'm pretty tired, that run took a lot out of me."

"Great, you'll go _right_ to sleep after, then."

"Shower?" He asks, tilting his head toward the bathroom.

"Shower."

Once David has helped him clean the sweat from his hair and his skin, he pulls him back into bed and lazily runs his hands over his body until Parick is panting and begging for more.

David eases him to the edge and back over and over and once Patrick begins muttering nonsensical sounds rather than actual words, he swallows him down and doesn't stop until Patrick moans something that sounds like his name.

And after, once Patrick has regained his sense of time and place and self and returns the favor with slick hands and a skilled tongue, he pulls David into his arms like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"So you never told me how this morning ended up," Patrick says, his breath ghosting over David's neck as he scratches his fingers through David's hair.

David spent five years fucking people that aren't Patrick Brewer, so this post-coital cuddling and Patrick's genuine interest in his life is strange. It makes David a little uncomfortable, but it's _Patrick,_ so he can deal with it just this once.

He _does_ feel nice, his arms around David's waist. So he tilts his head back onto Patrick's shoulder, and settles between the v of his legs, enjoying the solidity of Patrick's chest against his back. "Mm, it was fine. We lost the sculptor I wanted, but their agent promised an up-and-coming replacement, and I'll have exclusivity on them for a year, so."

"I don't... is that good?" he asks, tracing mindless patterns into David's thigh with one hand, the other still buried in his hair.

"Yeah. It's... sure."

He can tell Patrick wants to say something, just from the pattern his fingers are drawing on David's scalp. It should worry him, how well he knows him, how well he _still_ knows him, despite barely seeing each other over the last decade.

"Is that what you want to do?" Patrick asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Curate galleries, fight with agents, whatever. Is that, like, your dream?"

David shrugs. "I want to work with people who create beautiful things from nothing." He copies Patrick's move and traces mindless patterns against Patrick's knee. "I want to... I want to help people find beautiful things and help them surround themselves with beautiful things."

"And that's an art gallery?"

David sighs. "I... yeah. I love it. I love art."

Patrick presses a kiss against the shell of his ear. "Hey. When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

David breathes out a laugh. "I wanted to be my father, so, that kid was a fucking idiot."

"I dunno, I kinda liked that kid."

"Well, I seem to remember _you_ were a fucking idiot, too. You once asked me if I wanted to join your _dodgeball_ troupe during recess."

Patrick shrugs, jostling David's head from its place on his shoulder. "I wanted that kid's attention, I guess." He feels Patrick's laugh against his back and it calms him. "Seriously, though, David. What did you want to be?"

"What did _you_ want to be?"

"A pro baseball player."

David rolls his eyes.

"I can _hear_ you roll your eyes," Patrick says, pinching David's side lightly. "I'm serious, though. I wanted to lead the Blue Jays to another back-to-back World Series win."

"Sounds tangible."

Patrick smiles into his neck, and drops a kiss there. It makes David want to be honest.

"In high school, I did a project for Mr. Bradley's class about opening an art gallery in the general store."

"Like... next to the fungal cream, or...?"

He pinches Patrick's arm, earning him a soft yelp and a laugh. "Funny. No, I just... it's a lovely space. It gets good light." He bites his lip and keeps tracing patterns against Patrick's leg. "I did a group project for a business course in college and while yes, group projects are in fact the _devil_ ," he hears Patrick laugh behind him, "it got me thinking about ways to support artists and artisans by selling their work and products in a centralized space." He shrugs. "The general store would be good for that. There's a lot of people around here who make excellent products. I had this delicious, saltless butter at a farmer's market when I was 10 that I've _literally_ been thinking about ever since."

Patrick's hand slips from his scalp, his arm dropping to rest around his shoulders, but he says nothing.

"Anyway," David says with a sniff. "My gallery allows me to display stunning works by incredible artists. What more could I want in life?"

"Yeah," Patrick says on an exhale, pressing a kiss to the crown of David's head. "What more could anyone want than that?"

David detects a hint of _something_ that he doesn't love in Patrick's voice, so he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He turns in his arms and presses against him, and keeps Patrick's mind occupied for a while.

\---

**Now:** **_December 24, 2018_ **

David pushes open the door and smiles softly to himself at the telltale jingle of the bell overhead.

"Hi, welcome in, I'll be right w— David!" Patrick greets, his expression going from harried to relaxed the moment his eyes meet David's. He turns to excuse himself from the woman he's helping dig through a basket of scarves, and David _really_ needs to talk to him about his product displays because the rattan will absolutely snag the stitching, and even cheap, acrylic, mass-produced scarves don't deserve that.

"Hi. You look busy," he says as Patrick steps forward and drops a kiss to his cheek. "I brought you tea."

"Aw, thanks, babe," Patrick says with a smirk.

David scrunches up his nose. "Okay, I know we're like, temporarily dating or whatever now, but 'babe' is still a hard no."

"David!" Patrick gasps, his voice a whisper. "Kink negotiation at my place of business? Scandalous."

He purses his lips and narrows his eyes. "You think you're very funny."

"I do, yes."

"Excuse me, Patrick?" scarf-lady calls. "Do you have one with a red stripe?"

Another customer steps up to the counter. "I'll be right with you, ma'am," David tells the woman looking for the perfect scarf, before turning back to Patrick. "You man the register, since I have no idea how that works, and _I_ will upsell your customers."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." He drops a kiss to Patrick's lips, effectively ending the argument.

Patrick's eyes are soft and fond when David pulls away, and he forces himself to look at the scarf woman instead, and squeezes Patrick's shoulder before stepping over to help her.

They work in tandem for hours, and when Stevie stops in for wine, David ropes her into picking up lunch for them. They take turns eating, and while David is covering the floor, he may accidentally void a sale instead of finalizing it, but he makes a note of the total and vows to pay Patrick back if he screwed it up, instead of calling him back from his break early to help.

Things finally wind down just as the sun sets at five o'clock, and they move around each other easily as they clean up from the whirlwind of last-minute shoppers.

"I can't believe how many people in this town use _instant gravy_ for their holiday meals," David says as he ties the remaining scarves onto the side of a display shelf. Still not 100% safe, but better than just in a basket.

"Really? I'm surprised how _few_ use instant potatoes."

David barks out a laugh, and turns to joke with Patrick, but instead is struck by how he looks in the warm light of the store, his pale skin glowing golden. He's beautiful.

And David can tell him so now, now that they're in a (temporary) relationship. "You're really beautiful."

It comes out easy, like a fact, and David supposes it is. But Patrick looks at him like he hung the moon and he really can't take any more. "You're one to talk," Patrick tells him, softly.

David just steps over and leans across the counter to kiss him sweetly, and he feels something settle in him at the touch, that wild part of him that always sought something _bigger_ and _better_ and _more_ being soothed by Patrick's soft, gentle mouth.

"Hey," Patrick mumbles against his mouth. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

David pulls back and steps around the counter, crowding Patrick against the corner and slipping his arms around his shoulders where they've always ended up. "You should be with your family tomorrow, Patrick."

Patrick's arms settle around David's waist, like the final piece of the puzzle slotting into place. They always fit together so perfectly. David didn't realize how much he'd missed it. "I will be. Just don't wanna lose a day with you."

David thinks he might cry. But he knows Patrick wouldn't judge him, so he whispers, "Then yes, I would love to see you tomorrow."

"Great, I'll stop over on the way to my grandma's," he says, dropping a quick kiss to the underside of David's jaw.

"Mm, Grandma Brewer or Grandma O'Brien?"

"Grandma O'Brien."

"Well in that case, you should swing by after instead, bring me some of those thumbprint cookies she makes."

Patrick smiles at him, that smile that David loves, that he likes more than anyone else's. "We could go out for dinner on Boxing Day? I have to work, but after I close up?"

"Will there be some of Grandma O'Brien's cookies in it for me?"

"That can be arranged."

"Then yes, I would love to."

"It's a date," Patrick says, before leaning in and kissing him one more time, lingering for a long moment before pulling away apologetically so he can finish closing the store to make it home in time for Christmas Eve dinner.

Once the trash is taken out and the float is in the safe and the door is locked behind them, Patrick pulls David into another lingering kiss, his mouth relaxed against his, his jaw slack, and his lips lazy as he presses a lengthy goodbye to David's lips. He knows Patrick gets like this, needy and languid, as if savoring every second, when they have to go too long without each other.

And now, saying goodnight in front of the general store on Christmas Eve, knowing they won't get any real quality time together until late on Boxing Day, Patrick kisses him like he does every time he says goodbye at the end of a trip, as if two days without each other is akin to a year. As if any length of time is too great.

David wants to crawl into this moment and live in it, but he eventually does pull away and somehow manages to look at Patrick as he says goodnight, taking in how his kiss-swollen and wet lips look in the streetlights, and how the snow falling clings to his eyelashes and he allows himself to think, _I love you_.

He doesn't allow himself to say it, though. He just presses one last kiss to those pink lips and walks away.

\---

**Three Years Ago:** **_December 30, 2015_ **

David is still catching his breath, and maybe worried he tweaked a knee from holding Patrick up against the wall while driving into him. Or maybe from stilling his hips just as Patrick was about to come and carrying him over to the bed, still buried inside him, before dropping Patrick onto the bed and manuvering him onto all fours and fucking him, hard, crouching slightly to get the angle just right to get him to come untouched.

So yeah, his knee is throbbing a little, a pain he hadn't noticed until the orgasm endorphins wore off a bit, and the sweat has dried on his skin, and his come has definitely dried on Patrick's chest and neck and yeah, a little on his cheek from when David pulled out and turned him over to jerk himself off on his chest, loving how his come looks against Patrick's flushed skin.

But he's laying in Patrick's bed, with Patrick's arm thrown over his waist, and Patrick's head tucked under his chin, and he doesn't care about his knee or the sweat drying or the lube all over the sheets. He just wants to bask in this moment, in post-coital bliss with this beautiful man that he can't seem to help crashing back into every time he sees him.

"God, David, that was..."

"Agreed."

"Really, top marks. If I'd known you could do that, I would've let you cheat off of me in high school."

"I _did_ cheat off of you in high school," David says. His words feel tight in his mouth. He realizes it's because he's grinning as he says them and _oh_ , that's new. He's always sated after sex, but he can't remember the last time he was this _happy_.

Patrick gasps in mock-horror. "I am going to report you to my mother and have your diploma revoked."

David winces. "Can we please not talk about your mother when I'm literally laying in a puddle of your come?"

He feels Patrick's laugh before he hears it. "Fair enough."

They lay in silence for a few more moments, and just as David is about to suggest they wash off and change the sheets, Patrick's voice cuts through the quiet. "I was thinking..."

"Mm?" He's intrigued. He hopes Patrick has some ideas for a sexy shower.

Patrick traces mindless patterns on David's stomach, keeping his eyes focused there. "I'm about to max out my PTO, so what if I use some to come to New York for a bit?"

It hits him like a bucket of ice water, and he feels his anxiety come rearing back with a vengeance, clawing its way back up his throat and gripping him like a vise.

"Oh, um."

Fuck???

He... his life is a _mess_. Still. It's not like it's gotten any better since the last time Patrick broached this topic. He's practically slept his way to the top (okay, the middle) by fucking photographers and artists and curators and collectors and gallerists and sculptors and even his pizza delivery woman so he wouldn't have to pay for dinner on his meager take-home salary.

He can't have Patrick there. He _can't_.

What, are they going to date long-distance? Is Patrick going to come visit him in New York and sleep in his twin-sized loft bed with him? Hang out with his roommates while they take molly? Go to the club with them while they're rolling? Come home with him and save him the hassle of trying to remember a stranger's name the next morning?

David loves New York. Or, he will. He knows he will. He just needs to make something of himself first.

One day, he will be successful and happy and fulfilled and thriving personally and professionally.

He's just not there yet.

And until that happens, he can't let Patrick see that part of him.

Patrick is the one fucking good thing he has ever... if Patrick sees that, he'll... he...

 _God_ , why can't Patrick just let this go? Why can't he just let it be what it is — two old friends hooking up while home for the holidays? Why does he have to tell him he _loved_ him once, years ago, and make sure David thinks only of that every day for the next fucking five years of his life? Why does he have to hold David together when his dad almost dies? Why does he have to ask David about his _job_ and his _dreams_ and his _hopes_? Why can't he just suck David's dick and let the rest lie? Why does he have to _push_ this so much, when he knows David can't...

 _God_ , this? This is exactly why he stayed away for five fucking years. Has Patrick learned _nothing_?

"I mean, if you want to visit New York, that's fine," David says, flippantly. "I can give you hotel recommendations and a few non-touristy must-sees. Oh, and I _definitely_ have a list of food you'll need to try." He forces his voice to stay easy. Casual. Breezy. He channels Alexis more than he ever has in his life, including the time he woke up restrained to a stranger's headboard and had to calmly negotiate his release.

Patrick pales, even more than usual, and heaves himself to sit up and face him, and David _aches_. He's not an idiot. He knows Patrick wants more than he can give him. He just... has an idea in his head of the version of David that he wants to be with, and it's not real. He can't let Patrick break his own heart when he realizes it. He'll keep letting him have the fantasy. "Oh, um, I meant more, uh, to see you?"

David cocks his head. "Oh, I mean, I might be available? I don't schedule very far in advance. But my couch is always available to friends passing through, if you'd rather that than a hotel, though I can't imagine why."

Patrick swallows hard enough that David can hear it. "Okay, David."

David forces a bright smile onto his face. "Great! Listen, I gotta take off, but I'll see you around?"

Patrick nods, his face unreadable. But maybe that's because David is too distracted to parse out his expression. "Yeah. I'll see you at Mutt's party tomorrow?"

"Yeah, definitely," David replies, dropping a kiss to his lips and refusing to let himself linger there, before he begins hunting for his clothes — until he remembers that even in their most desperate moments, Patrick still takes the time to fold them and set them on the chair next to the bed.

Within a minute, he's dressed and out Patrick's door.

He holds it together until he's in his rental car, and then he lets the sob tear from his throat.

\---

**Now:** **_December 25, 2018_ **

David wakes up Christmas morning to the smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee and honestly, it could be worse.

It's not _quite_ as good as waking up with Patrick, but it's pretty great.

It gets better when he heads downstairs and finds his family sitting around the tree, festive mugs filled with coffee in their hands.

They open gifts slowly, taking time to chat about the last year, and David can't remember the last time he had this much fun with his family.

Especially when his mother brings in a tray of mimosas and they really turn it into a Rose family Christmas.

He begs off to shower after a bit, knowing Patrick and his parents will be stopping by well before dinner and wanting to be effortlessly put together by the time they arrive.

He's pulling on joggers as the chime of the doorbell rings through the house and David feels his heart drop. He looks around wildly as he hears Clint Brewer's laugh echo up the stairs and oh _god_ , his hair is still wet, what the _fuck_ , how dare Patrick not warn him that they were on their way?

He picks up his phone to check the time and — oh.

# Patrick

####  **Today,** 12:12 PM

Patrick
    Hey, we're going to leave in a little bit, is it still okay if we stop over on our way?

####  **Today,** 12:23 PM

    Okay, doing it anyway. See you soon, babe.

####  **Today,** 12:31 PM

    Seriously our ETA is in two minutes, please tell me you didn't change your mind.
    ...And we're here.

_Fuck_.

"He's upstairs, Patrick, you can head on up if you'd like."

_Fuck!_

He rushes to pull on an undershirt just as the door opens and Patrick's eyes immediately lock on his hair.

"Wow."

"Not a word."

"Haven't seen your hair like this since your candy raver phase in grade 10."

"You promised you would never mention that!"

Patrick's eyes go soft and fond in that way David is quickly becoming addicted to and he steps forward, his hands falling to David's waist as he pulls him in for a kiss, uncaring about his wet hair dripping on him.

"We only have about a half hour until we need to be on the road," he explains when he pulls away. "Think you can finish getting dressed so we can rescue our respective parents soon?"

David rolls his eyes but pads into the bathroom to blow dry in record time.

Five minutes and forty-three seconds (and several stolen kisses) later, he's coiffed and dressed and heading back downstairs, Patrick's hand at the small of his back, his thumbs tracing soft circles into the cashmere of David's sweater.

"Oh, David, thank you so much for deigning to grace us with your presence," his mother says as they step through the doorway. "It is rude to keep your guests waiting. Luckily, I was able to placate Marcy with mimosas."

David gapes at her. "Okay, Patrick let me know they were on their way when I was already in the shower, I wasn't ready for company yet!"

"Yes, well, I'm sure you two managed to find _some_ way to occupy your moments together upon his arrival."

"Oh my _god_ ," David hisses, his eyes darting toward Clint and Marcy and clocking their expressions of surprised amusement. It's a face he's seen many times on Patrick. It must run in the family. "I was just drying my hair," he finishes pathetically.

Clint waves them off. "No need to explain yourself to me. This one," he says, gesturing to his wife, "has a habit of hogging the bathroom until the very last minute before we need to leave, and then I have to rush to shower and get dressed. Our son inherited her lack of appropriate time signaling."

"Hey!" Patrick and Marcy protest in harmony, and it's honestly adorable.

"Mm, yeah, he's always been like that," David says, following Patrick to sit, not realizing he was moving toward an armchair and the only place to sit is on his lap. He leans against the arm of the chair instead, and Patrick's arm immediately moves to rest around his waist. "One time in high school, he had this elaborate dinner date planned for us, and he showed up at two hours early to pick me up as if I would just somehow magically be ready to go."

"You always look so put-together, I thought it was effortless."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

Patrick shrugs. "Got me here, didn't it? I'm sure you're not still hanging around because of my good looks and charm."

David bites back a smile, glad that they are able to joke about their history. He leans down to press a quick kiss to Patrick's cheek, sliding a hand to the back of his head to scratch at the short hair there. It's a soothing gesture that he has done for years, loving how the soft fuzz feels against his fingertips, but mostly loving that thought that it's _Patrick_.

"Mrs. Brewer, how are things at the school?"

They chat easily about work, everyone carefully avoiding asking about David's gallery in New York, and it's so easy to pretend this is a normal thing, to have his family and Patrick's family together under one roof — to see Alexis chatting with Clint about what his law practice is doing to market their new partner's expertise in tax law; to see Marcy and Moira gossiping about Jazzagals (and oh god, it just occurred to him that Marcy and his mother know each other from Jazzagals, holy fuck); to see his father and Patrick reminiscing on Patrick's days as thrice-recognized Employee of the Month at Johnny's favorite local Rosebud Motel in Elm Glen ("Location 785, impressive late check-out fees!") while they were in high school.

Having all these people under one roof, these people who... who seem to genuinely _care_ about him, about his happiness and well-being, who look at Patrick's hand on his knee with sly, fond smiles, it... it's a lot. He feels a lot.

He wishes he got to keep this feeling for longer than just two weeks.

It's easy to imagine a world where this is normal and he gets to experience it regularly and not just with a countdown flashing blindingly bright in his mind telling him when he's going to lose it.

\---

  
**Three Years Ago:** **_December 2015-January 2016_ **

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Dec 31, 2015,** 9:02 PM

Patrick
     Hey! At the barn, when do you think you'll be here?

####  **Dec 31, 2015,** 10:16 PM

     My texts don't seem to be getting delivered, are you okay?

####  **Dec 31, 2015,** 10:16 PM

     David, what is going on, where are you?

David
    sorry, forgot to text you and let you know that i had to fly back last-minute for a work thing. in nyc now. have fun at the party though!

Patrick
    Thanks for the heads up, David.

  
  


# Stevie

####  **Jan 1, 2016,** 12:24 AM

Stevie
     fyi patrick is DRUNK and found some dude to make out with at midnight and theyre still going at it, so great job. couldve been you.

David
    why arent you making out with anyone?

Stevie
    im babysitting patrick

David
     surely the guy hes making out with can do that 

Stevie
    youre a fucking idiot. happy new year, asshole.

David
     happy new year, stevie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: off-screen, johnny has a minor heart attack and david rushes home. by the time he lands, johnny is fine. patrick shows up to support him through it. to skip this section, search for "December 23, 2018" and begin reading from there. (It is mentioned in passing one more time in this chapter.)


	4. now i'm missing your smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. sorry for the delay on this. after yesterdays events i just did not have the brain capacity to do a final pass on this and post it.
> 
> i hope everyone is safe and taking care of themselves.
> 
> as a note, the final chapter will still go up tomorrow as promised.

**Now:** **_December 26, 2018_ **

Alexis stops to look in yet another shop window, and David impatiently checks the time on his cell.

"Ooh, David, what do you think of this dr— David!"

"What!" he snaps.

"What is your deal, you've _barely_ looked up from your phone today."

He shoves his phone back into his coat pocket and looks directly at her. "I just want to make sure we make it back in time for dinner."

"Okay, but _why_ though, it's not like it's that exci— oh my god, you have a date with Patrick, don't you?"

David makes a noise of protest, his mouth hanging open as he tries to think of a defense.

"Oh my _god_ , you do! Ugh, David! We've _barely_ spent any time together this entire week, you've been so _preoccupied_ with hooking up," she says, distastefully. "Which like, no offense, you and Patrick are like, _super_ cute together, but I would think you got enough of that in New York, based on some of your stories."

David hesitates a moment, and Alexis' eyes go wide.

"Oh my god, David."

"What!"

"You're not just hooking up with him. You... are you finally making an honest man out of Patrick Brewer?!" She claps her hands gleefully and tucks them under her chin. "Oh my god, is that why he came over with his cute little parents?"

"Shut up," he says flatly, before turning and walking back down the sidewalk.

"David!" she calls after him, and he hears her heeled boots crunch in the snow rapidly as she catches up. "Ugh, David, I wanted to go in there!"

"Go ahead, _I'm_ going to drive home."

She reaches out and grips his arm, and he can feel her nails digging in through his coat. "Hey."

He sighs and turns to face her. "What."

"This is good for you. Patrick, like, makes you better. And you do that for him, too. You don't see it because you're like, self-hating and a little," she makes a pouty face and turns both thumbs down, "but it's true."

"That's offensive."

David can see the happiness on his sister's face and even as she reaches out to boop him on the nose, he loves her dearly for it, despite how badly he wants to strangle her at the moment. "This is a super cute look for you, David."

"What is?"

She boops him again. "Being in _love_ ," she presses, her voice needling and teasing.

He swallows, hard. Might as well. If anything, to get it off his chest. "I am."

Her eyes go wide and she straightens up, the amusement gone from her face as she considers the ramifications of what he just said. "Oh my god, David..."

"Yeah."

"That's like... huge."

"I know."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

He shrugs, and glances at a spot over her shoulder to avoid her pitying eyes. "Make the most of it while I have it. I leave in a week, I can't just... " He sniffs. "I'm just gonna make the most of it."

Alexis clears her throat, and David's eyes slide back to hers, shining with unshed tears. For him.

Ew.

"Well," she says, flipping her hair over one shoulder. "We should get you back home then so you can make it to your little date-y on time."

He glances back at the old Blouse Barn storefront, now a passable, maybe even semi-decent, boutique. "Okay, but after you check out that dress," he tells her, pointing at the mannequin in the window she was just admiring.

Alexis shimmies her shoulders and turns around, practically prancing through the packed snow in her four inch heels.

\---

**Three Years Ago:** **_February 14, 2016_ **

On Valentine's Day, David gets the confirmation he's been dreading since New Year's when he pulls up Instagram and sees Patrick's smiling face, right at the top of his feed, an even wider and more brilliant smile on the shorter man next to him.

His arm around Patrick's waist.

His other hand on Patrick's stomach.

His eyes on Patrick's face.

There's no caption, but David doesn't need any more context.

He thinks he must be coming down with something, because suddenly his chest is tight and his eyes are watering and his nose is prickling and he—

He shuts down the app.

Then he reopens it, mutes Patrick's account, and closes it again.

Then he texts the first person in his phone who he can count on to come over and fuck Patrick Brewer right out of his mind.

\---

**Now: _December 26, 2018_**

# Patrick

####  **Today,** 7:18 PM

David
    im here

Patrick
    Can you buzz up? I need five minutes.

David
    wow you aren't ready yet? who are you and what have you done with patrick

Patrick
    Funny. Buzzer is that button next to "Brewer, P." In case you were struggling. I'm pretty sure this buzzer was installed in 1989 and I know how older generations can sometimes get confused by new technology

David
    WE ARE THE SAME AGE ASSHOLE

The buzzer sounds in David's ear and he climbs the steps slowly, texting as he goes and hoping that if he takes his time, Patrick will be ready and meet him at the second floor landing so he doesn't need to climb another flight.

# Patrick

Patrick
    Ah, yes, we are in our 30's.

David
    you take that back i am a mature 25

He eventually finds himself at Patrick's door, so no such luck on that.

When he knocks, Patrick is there in a second with a kiss to greet him as he pulls him in, his shirt still hanging open over his undershirt.

"I thought we had a 7:30 reservation."

"So you showed up at 7:20?"

David waves him off. "I assumed that meant 8, since you know me better than that."

Patrick pauses mid-button and looks at David with a fond smirk. "Yeah, it was for 8."

"Mm, knew it," David says, leaning in for one more kiss if only to give him time to school his expression. Being known this well by a... person he's dating is a new concept. He doesn't hate it.

His kiss is thwarted, however, when Patrick's jaw practically unhinges itself to let out a large yawn.

"Sorry, sorry, give me two seconds to finish getting dressed and then we can—" he yawns again, "then we can go."

David watches as he fumbles with the buttons, his eyes blinking blearily.

"Patrick, are you okay?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, just a little tired. The store was super busy today."

David hesitates. On the one hand, Patrick was going to take him out to that really great Thai restaurant in Elm Ridge and he has been looking forward to it all day. But on the other, "We can just stay in."

Patrick blinks at him, and David can see the exhaustion in the lines of his face. "What? No, no, I promised you dinner, we—"

"Okay, but I don't think you should be driving when you're this tired and if I drive then it's not really fun for me since I can't make you buy me expensive drinks, so, let's just... order in and watch a movie."

"David, come on, we've been doing that for years, I want to take you on a date, I—"

"We can go on a date another night."

Patrick pouts, even more exaggerated than usual through his exhaustion, and it's cute as fuck. "I was so excited to go out to dinner with you."

David bites the inside of one cheek to avoid grinning like a fool, but he's afraid the other half of his smile is betraying his secret. "For the record, I think it's just as romantic to stay in."

"But we always—"

"We always stay in, I know. But that was different."

"How?"

He steps forward and rests his hands on Patrick's shoulders, feeling him lean into it, and it makes his heart melt a little. "Because now, we're in a temporary relationship and we get to do all the cute domestic relationship things we haven't let ourselves do before."

"Does that mean I can change into sweatpants and fall asleep while we watch _The Holiday_?"

David doesn't think he could take _The Holiday_ right now, not considering their current arrangement, but Patrick put that thought in his head so he's distracted when he says, "Well, I wouldn't be a very good temporary boyfriend if I let you fall asleep in those jeans."

"What did you just say?" Patrick asks, his voice soft and his eyes big and oh _fuck_.

"I said those jeans are way too tight to be comfortable," David jokes, his eyes flicking down to rove over Patrick's legs. Which was a mistake because now he just wants to have those thighs around his ears or his waist or his dick, he's really not picky at this point.

Patrick cocks his head at him. "I think it was something about your _temporary boyfriend_ 's jeans?"

"I don't remember saying that."

"Mm. Well, hey, if my _temporary boyfriend_ doesn't like these jeans, I can take the jeans off."

"Okay, I know you think you're teasing me right now but that actually would be _great_ for me, so."

Patrick smiles at him, wide and open and soft and _genuine_ , and David melts against him, their lips finding each other's with practiced ease.

David lets himself languish in it for a moment, enjoying the lazy press of Patrick's chest against his, the unhurried slide of their lips, the way Patrick slowly skates his hands up David's side before bringing them to rest on his jaw. He gives himself over to it, holding Patrick up and gently pressing his fingertips into his back, right where he keeps his tension, in that spot where he hunches over when he's stressed, and Patrick lets out a pathetic whine at the touch.

"Mmk, why don't you go change into sweats, and I will order us some pizza."

"Okay, David," Patrick breathes out lightly, tucking himself in under David's chin for a moment before pulling back and stumbling blearily toward the bedroom (or, the space immediately surrounding his bed, since this apartment is basically just one big room — not that he has any room to talk, considering how tiny his apartment is in the city).

David watches him shuffle over to his clothes for a moment, feeling his fondness for the other man growing with each stumbling step, before he forces his brain to focus and takes out his phone to tap out an order at the local pizza place.

By the time he's finished putting in his credit card number (and his very specific topping preferences), Patrick is plopping down on the sofa and pulling up Netflix on his laptop.

"My wallet's by the door, just use the travel card so I get the miles."

David feels a jolt of pleasure at the domesticity of Patrick telling him to dig in his wallet. It's a shame he won't get to do it. "Oh, I already paid."

"David," Patrick pouts. Again. "I was gonna take you out tonight, this was going to be my treat."

He rolls his eyes and walks over to the couch, dropping a gentle kiss upside down on Patrick's lips. "You can get the next one."

"Fine, but I wanted the miles. I was gonna use them to get to New York," he says, his voice treading lightly, testing.

David feels the anxiety threatening to claw up. He can see it and recognize it and name it before it can take over and he pushes it down. It's reactionary, a leftover instinct from years of fear and heartache and he won't let it take this from him, not again. "Well," he says, swallowing hard, forcing it down, not letting it control him, and taking a deep breath. "We will just have to figure something else out."

Patrick watches him for a moment, wide-eyed and awed, before he responds with a simple, reverent, "Okay, David," and pulls at David's wrist until he moves around the couch. And he keeps pulling until David lands in a heap on his lap.

"Hi," he whispers.

"Hi." Patrick gazes up at him and presses a gentle kiss to one corner of his mouth before leaning against the pillows and easing David down, face first against his chest. "Can we nap until the pizza gets here?"

"Mm, sleep _and_ pizza? What, are you going to offer sex next, just make it a trifecta of my favorite things?"

"We both know I'm gonna put out, David," Patrick mumbles.

David feels Patrick's lips against the side of his neck and a moment later, his eyes close and he lets himself doze in Patrick's arms.

Just before the knock at the door rouses him, he briefly wonders if his face can get stuck like this, soft and smiling and smushed up against Patrick's chest. He thinks there could be worse things.

Still, he stands and lets Patrick have a few more seconds of sleep as he tips the delivery driver and quietly pulls out plates and wine for their dinner.

"Hey," he whispers when everything is ready, gently nudging Patrick's shoulder. "Dinner's here, wake up."

"Mm, five more minutes, babe."

"I'm pretty sure I told you to stop that."

Patrick smirks, betraying just how alert and awake he is. "Stop what, _babe_?"

David rolls his eyes and swats at Patrick's hip, just a little harder than he would if he were still trying to gently wake him. "Okay. Get up, it's dinnertime."

Patrick's eyes follow him around the kitchen as he gathers wine and pizza for them both and sets them pointedly at the _dining table_ , because they're not eating on the sofa tonight. It's date night and they're not 19 anymore.

After dinner and a bottle of wine split between them and most of _Notting Hill_ on Patrick's laptop, just as Will is racing to Anna's press conference to confess his feelings, David hears Patrick whisper, "I like having you here."

He likes being here. That's a given. How can he not? It's tastefully decorated and cozy and _Patrick_ , and he likes snuggling up to him and eating cheap takeout and having Patrick bring him coffee in the morning.

But he's not about to _admit_ that. Not when words like "I like being here" are so close to the "I love you" he doesn't think he'll ever get a chance to say.

So instead, he kisses him, deeply and full of promise, full of every emotion he feels for him. He pours his love and fear and nostalgia and anxiety into it, and Patrick's kisses match his, measure for measure. He kisses back the good things, returning David's care and affection, and he soothes the bad ones.

And he takes David's hand and leads him to his bed and kisses him with painfully gentle lips.

And they just keep kissing, as if there's no hurry, no agenda, no calendar counting down the amount of time they have with each other's bodies. They just kiss, and pull back to breathe, and kiss again, until Patrick's lips are red and slick and David feels the urgency finally grip him.

"David," Patrick breathes against his mouth, "can you..."

"Yeah, yeah, Patrick, I've got you."

And isn't that just the craziest thing about all of this? That he has him? That he gets to have him, even after everything?

He presses his body against Patrick's, and slides his fingertips gently along the small of his back, where his tee shirt has ridden up, and then he pulls back, regrettably tearing his mouth from Patrick's.

"Is this okay? If you're too tired—"

"No. No, I mean, no, I'm not. I mean... I mean, yes."

David nudges Patrick's nose with his and catches his eye. "Hey. Which one is it? Both are fine."

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

Patrick rolls his eyes fondly, and David _loves him_ so fucking much. "Yes, I want you to fuck me."

David quirks an eyebrow at that. "Oh, is _that_ what I was offering?"

"I mean, I was hoping you would..."

He bends down, pressing a kiss to Patrick's jaw. "I suppose I could be convinced."

"Oh?"

"Yes, with proper motivation."

Patrick presses his hips up into David's and drags their cocks together, agonizingly slowly. "Do you have a preferred method of motivation, or...?"

"This is a good start."

"A good start?" Patrick asks, smiling brilliantly at him. David wants to live in this moment, in this bed, with this man, and this smile. He never wants to do anything else.

"Yeah, it's a bit beginner and basic, but it's a—"

He's cut off when Patrick leans forward and kisses him deeply, gripping his face in both hands, and wraps one leg around David's hips and — oh, _fuck_ , he easily manhandles him onto his back, dropping his full weight in David's lap and pressing down hard, his lips never breaking from David's for a second.

"Mm," David hums, dragging his mouth from Patrick's, and mouthing down the column of his throat, displayed perfectly at this angle. "This is more like it."

Patrick barks out a laugh, easy and amused, before getting them back on track with a firm, "David? Either you fuck me or I'm going to sleep."

"Oh, okay, yes, fine."

" _Fine_?" Patrick responds, an eyebrow raised.

David rolls his eyes. "Oh, Patrick, please, _please_ , let me do all the work and fuck your brains out, it would be my _honor_."

Patrick just kisses him and says nothing, and David feels the joking atmosphere melt away, replaced with low-burning embers glowing hot and steady between them.

He pushes his hips up against Patrick's, who responds with steady hands on his waist, guiding him to a slow, lazy rhythm that makes him feel like he's going to melt, right here on Patrick's mattress.

Patrick lowers himself down so they are pressed chest-to-chest, and continues his controlled, gentle exploration of David's mouth.

David can only wrap his arms around Patrick's waist and hold him there, the heat between them building in a slow burn that feels like nothing between them ever has.

It feels like _time_.

It feels like _love_.

And David can do nothing but let Patrick lead him there with a gentle hand on the back of his neck, and let Patrick fumble in his nightstand for lube and a condom, and let Patrick's eyes rove over his face as David slowly undresses him and opens him up with his tongue and slick fingers.

"David..." Patrick breathes desperately when David finally, finally lines himself up. "I don't... I... _please_."

It's not a complete sentence, and David shouldn't understand.

But he does. Of _course_ he does.

Then he presses in, his eyes locked on Patrick's, and Patrick grabbles desperately for David's left hand and grips tight in his, and there's no turning back from this moment.

He holds on, Patrick's hand a constant presence as he pours everything he's feeling into the space between their bodies.

David may never be able to tell Patrick he loves him, but he can damn well show him.

He can stroke his hair and his cheek and press kisses into his jaw. He can wrap his arm around his waist and press their sweat-slick chests together. He can mouth at his collarbone and tell him how beautiful he is.

He can listen as Patrick whispers sweet nothings to the dark room, about how " _it's always been you, David_ ," and " _fuck, David, you're so good_ ," and " _yours, David, I'm yours_ ," in response to a question David doesn't think he'd even asked.

He can hold smoldering, intense, too-fucking-much eye contact with Patrick as he comes, a litany of, "David, David, David, fuck, _David_ ," on his tongue.

He can taste his own name on Patrick's mouth when he kisses him as he comes down.

He only pulls away when Patrick does, mumbling, "Please, David, wanna feel you," into his ear.

So he gives Patrick exactly what he wants — he pours his love and adoration and the last decade of belonging to Patrick into it as he slowly gets himself there, and then Patrick looks him in the eye, and whispers a choked and tight, " _David_ ," and it sounds so goddamn much like "I love you" that it pushes him over the edge.

And after, with sweat still drying on their skin and a thoroughly-used condom somewhere on the floor and a pile of tissues on the nightstand, he gathers Patrick into his arms and kisses the back of his neck, tasting the salt there, and whispers, "I like being here, too," and yeah, it _does_ sound like "I love you."

Patrick just sighs, lifts David's hand to his lips and presses a too-gentle kiss to his knuckles, and curls further into him.

\---

**Two Years Ago:** **_December 24, 2016_ **

David doesn't fucking want to be here. Like, obviously he doesn't want to be in Schitt's Creek at _all_ , but he _definitely_ doesn't want to be here, at the café, picking up takeout for Stevie.

Still, he knows if he doesn't that they will _both_ go hungry while they drown their feelings in wine. It's Christmas Eve and the one pizza place that delivers here is closed, and Stevie is picking up weed for them, so he's stuck doing this errand.

Which he can absolutely do. He's a grown adult. He's 28 years old. He can handle this. As long as he doesn't run into—

Patrick. Whose eyes he locks on, the second he steps inside.

Patrick, who is sitting at the back booth — their Prom booth, which David knows isn't _owned_ by that memory, but it still stings — with his dazzling smile plastered on his face, a dark-haired man across from him.

David doesn't even need to see him. He knows it's the guy from Valentine's Day.

And his heart _aches_ , knowing this guy got those months with Patrick.

Those months that don't exist in David's mind, this _thing_ between them frozen in place outside of his holiday visits.

That guy got to see Patrick in the spring, as the sun sets later and later. He got to see Patrick in the summer, when his freckles come out, scattered across his shoulders. He got to see Patrick in the autumn, and most likely celebrated his birthday with him.

He got to have those moments with this Patrick. David only has memories of a young Patrick during those times. A boy on his school baseball team, a boy jumping into the creek, a boy bringing cupcakes for the class. He's tried to mash the adult Patrick he keeps falling back in bed with into those memories, but he can't make him fit.

This guy knows how he fits in those moments.

And David has never in his life experienced such a red-hot jolt of jealousy. Not even when he went to the Alexander McQueen sample sale and ran into his ex, who took the leather jacket he was eyeing and wore it better than he ever could. He _hates_ this guy for having what he can't.

And it's not fair. Patrick is happy. That's what should matter. That's what _does_ matter.

But David can simultaneously be so happy for Patrick and still murderous about what he himself cannot have. He contains multitudes. He can multitask.

Then the guy turns around, seeking the thing that stole his boyfriend's focus, and David hates him even more for his glowing, smooth skin and sharp jaw and sparkling eyes. His mind can't help but conjure an image of them together, bare skin against bare skin, smile against smile, in every position he's ever fucked Patrick in. But worse than that, is the image of them curled up together after, sated and happy and in love.

David forces his face into a carefully neutral expression, and offers Patrick an easy wave.

"Hey, David!" Patrick greets, loudly, forcing him to step over to their table, his feet feeling like lead blocks with every step. "When, uh, when did you get back?"

"A few days ago. Been spending most of my days at my parents' house, you know..." He trails off, but he can see that Patrick gets it. David never spends much time at his parents', preferring to spend his days out with Stevie or Alexis, and his nights between Patrick's legs.

"Well, welcome home."

"Mm, thanks."

There's an awkward beat before either one of them seems to remember that Patrick's boyfriend is here.

"David, this is Ken. Ken, this is David, we went to high school together."

David notices that he gets a qualifier, but Ken does not.

"Nice to meet you, David."

"You too." He stands there for a moment, before hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "Well, I have to pick up dinner for me and Stevie, but it was great seeing you."

"You, too," Patrick says, his voice soft, and David can't fucking deal with that right now.

"Nice meeting you, Ken," he says without eye contact, before hurrying to the counter.

Thankfully, Twyla has their order ready and hands it over without a word, just gentle, knowing eyes.

He bolts from the café without looking back, Patrick's eyes burning into the back of his head as he goes.

\---

**Now:** **_December 27, 2018_ **

Waking up at Patrick's is nice and something David could very quickly become addicted to.

The light pours in through his sheer curtains, airy and soft and waking them gently, and since Patrick is opening late today, they get to sleep in until the slightly-more-reasonable hour of eight o'clock.

Still _far_ too early for David, but much better than Patrick's usual 6am alarm.

"Mm, like w'kin up with you," Patrick mumbles against David's collarbone, throwing one leg over his and cuddling in impossibly closer. "Warm."

"Too early to talk."

"Too early to fuck?"

David feels a small smile tug at his lips, his brain slightly more interested in being awake now. "Never."

"Good," Patrick says, dipping below the covers and mouthing at David's hips and thighs and stomach until he's begging him for more.

And after David returns the favor, savoring the salt of dried sweat on Patrick's skin from last night, and after they _finally_ shower, David steps out of the bathroom to a plate of eggs and bacon and he very nearly tells Patrick just how in love with him he is.

"What's this?" he asks, gesturing to the long box in front of his plate.

Patrick's blush is adorable and David wants to _taste_ it, but they don't have time and he _just_ fixed his hair, so he lets it go. "It's your Christmas gift."

"Oh?" _Fuck_.

"It's not a big deal, David."

"It's not?"

Patrick shrugs, making himself busy in the kitchen and avoiding eye contact as he tells him, "I bought it seven years ago and never gave it to you."

David swallows down the lump in his throat and opens the box.

And he wants to _cry._

"I don't know if you even wear that necklace anymore," Patrick explains, "but you used to wear it all the time and this reminded me of—"

David stands up and loops his arms around Patrick's neck, kissing him deeply. "It's lovely. It's perfect. Thank you, Patrick."

Patrick's hands rest on his hips and they don't talk for a few minutes, until David thinks about how cold his breakfast must be getting and forces himself to pull away.

When they finally make it to the parking lot only a few minutes later than planned and their shirts a little more wrinkled than strictly professional, Patrick pulls him in for one last kiss and mumbles, "Will you have dinner with me and my parents tomorrow?" against his lips.

David, for some unknown reason, agrees.

\---

**Two Years Ago:** **_January 17, 2017_ **

# Alexis

####  **Jan 3, 2017,** 12:17 PM

Alexis
    Stevie is too afraid of setting you off to tell you but I'm not

David
    tell me what

Alexis
    Ken proposed to Patrick

####  **Jan 3, 2017,** 12:22 PM

Alexis
    Omg you were supposed to freak out so I could explain that Patrick said no and now they're over-over

####  **Jan 3, 2017,** 1:15 PM

Alexis
    Ugh David can you just respond please so I know you're okay

David
    im fine. thanks for keeping me in the loop on town gossip

Alexis
    Okay like we both know that's not all it is to you but I'm gonna let you pretend 💜🔮🎆☂️🌂😈👾

  
  


\---

**Now:** **_December 28, 2018_ **

Dinner at the Brewers house is an exceptionally lovely affair.

Clint makes a mean lasagna, a recipe that he knows for a fact has been passed down to Patrick, having spent the two days following his father's heart attack eating it straight out of the pan, and Marcy is a master baker, her bourbon-soaked apple cake even better than David remembers.

And considering Marcy passed him a hearty slice with a wink and a, "I remember how much you loved this when you two were boys," he's proud of himself for not bursting into tears on the spot.

He nervously fiddles with the new bracelet on his wrist and the old rings on his fingers as they sit down in the living room with a random sports talk show on low in the background as they chat.

Patrick's hand eventually finds his, stilling his nervous fidgeting, and laces their fingers together with a gentle smile on his face.

"You okay?"

David nods.

The conversation turns to a television show David has never been able to get into, and it seems like as good a time as any for some air.

"I'm going to get another glass of wine," he says, popping up from his spot next to Patrick. "Anyone need anything from the kitchen?"

"Oh, David, sweetie, let me help you. I could use another," Marcy says with a wink. "I don't have to drive anywhere tonight so I can indulge."

"Great," he says tightly.

He loves Marcy. She's a truly wonderful person who has always been kind to him even when he's fucked with her son's feelings.

Still, he doesn't really love the thought of being alone with his... his temporary boyfriend's mother, now that things are even weirder and more complicated than just "we bang it out sometimes when I'm home."

(He knows it was always more than that. For both of them. But especially for Patrick, who isn't nearly as good at forcing himself not to feel things as David is. It just makes it even harder to now have to face Patrick's mother and pretend he hasn't spent the last decade breaking her son's heart.)

"So, David, how's New York?" Marcy asks cautiously as they step into the kitchen.

He beelines for the wine rack. "Oh, you know. Bright lights, big city, concrete jungle where dreams are made, et cetera." He pulls out a fresh bottle of merlot and digs through the drawer for a corkscrew. "It's, um... it's different. From here."

"Good different?"

He thinks about all the things he loves about New York — the anonymity, the food, the museums, the art. And he thinks about all the things he loves about Schitt's Creek — the community, the space, the fresh air, the people.

Patrick.

"Just different," he responds with a shrug.

Marcy nods and reaches for the Merlot, but doesn't pour it yet, trapping him here. She taps her fingers against the bottle and David can see that crinkle between her brows that Patrick gets when he thinks too hard.

"What is it?" he finds himself asking.

She looks up, surprised, but she smiles gently at him. "He's been happier in the last week than I think I've seen him in years."

"I..." He trails off. He has no fucking clue what to say to that.

She shakes her head and offers him a watery smile. "He hasn't been like this since he was a boy. Actually, since right before you moved away."

He's frozen.

"David, I always liked you, even before you two were really friends... Ever since I had you for grade 9 English. And I always liked you for him. You bring out the best in him, you challenge him, you make him stronger. And he's happier with you than he's ever..." She clears her throat and smiles at him. "He was never like that with Ken. I was so... so _relieved_ when he turned down his proposal. I didn't want him to get married just because someone asked. I want him to... to be _excited_ about the man he's with. I want him to light up when he's with him. The way he always has with you."

David can feel the panic creeping up his spine, and Marcy reaches out to rest a hand over his. He glances down, and sees the bracelet sitting innocuously under her fingertips, like it means something that Patrick kept it for seven years just because he thought David would like it. Even after David hurt him and hurt him and hurt him again.

"You light up too, you know. With him. I think he brings out the best in you, too. I'm just so glad you two have finally worked things out. And look, I know you're both adults who can make your own decisions, I just... I'd just hate to see you throw all that away over a silly little thing like distance." She squeezes his hand, and he finds himself squeezing back. "He'd make it work, you know. If you wanted that."

David takes a deep, shaky breath, and nods. "I know," he finally squeaks out.

And he does. But that's part of the problem — Patrick would sacrifice his own wants and needs from a relationship to make it work. And he shouldn't have to.

"I know that a romantic partner can't be all things to a person. He's happy, here, without you. He can survive. He doesn't _need_ you," she squeezes his hand again. He hadn't realized she was still holding it. "But he wants you. He's happy without you. But he's happier with you."

"That's good, that's... that he's happy. I've always wondered if..." He swallows, and forces himself to meet her eyes. "I'm happier with him, too."

Marcy stands and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tight before he can even register his shock at the affection. "Oh, my sweet boy. It'll all work out either way. You're smart boys. You'll figure something out." She pulls away, squeezing his shoulders as she does. "Now. More wine?"

" _God_ , yes, please."

She smirks and pours him a heavy glass, before throwing him a wink. "I think you earned that for indulging my moment of Brewer sincerity."

"Oh, I think I earned more than one drink for that one."

Marcy laughs heartily at his joke, before draining her entire glass and raising one eyebrow at him in challenge. He bites back his smile, raises his glass to her, and downs it in three gulps, then holds it out for a refill.

She refills her own glass next and links her arm with his, picking up the bottle with her other hand, and leading him to the living room.

When they get back, she lets him go with one last little squeeze and a soft smile, and he returns to his place next to Patrick, whose hand immediately flattens against his spine in a soothing gesture.

"Hey, you okay?" Patrick asks in a low whisper.

David grins. "Yeah. Your mom is pretty great."

Patrick smirks at him. "Well, she's married, so."

"Oh? Do you know any other Brewers that might be available?"

"I could call the family phone tree, see if anyone is free."

David leans forward and kisses Patrick's gentle, smart mouth, right there in front of his parents, and he can't bring himself to care about their prying eyes.

\---

**Last Year:** **_February-November 2017_ **

# Patrick

####  **Feb 10, 2017,** 10:45 AM

David
    hey whats the name of that thing you recommended to me for the tax stuff?

Patrick
    Do you mean TurboTax?

David
    yes omg thank you
    i have no idea what im doing

Patrick
    Do you want me to take a look at it for you? Not that I know much about US tax law.

David
    that would be amazing thank you

Patrick
    No problem.

David
    is it weird if i ask how youre doing

Patrick
    I think it's weirder if you pretend not to know that I broke up with my boyfriend when he proposed.

David
    how do you know that i know

Patrick
    Are you telling me Stevie and/or Alexis and/or Ray and/or Jocelyn and/or even Ronnie didn't immediately tell you when they found out?

David
    in ronnies defense she sent it with a string of laughing emojis

Patrick
    Good to know some things will never change.

David
    yeah

Patrick
    How are you?

David
    good
    busy but good
    can i call you later
    i miss your voice

Patrick
    Yeah, David. I'd like that.

David
    great, make sure you have wine and ice cream and soft pretzels, i will give you the full david rose breakup special

Patrick
    Looking forward to it!

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Apr 20, 2017,** 10:01 AM

Patrick
    Happy 420, I know it's your favorite holiday.

David
    omg please grow up
    but also thank you i will be celebrating later

Patrick
    Me too, Stevie invited me over.

David
    ugh no fair i havent gotten high with you guys in years

Patrick
    Wanna FaceTime later? That way you can get high with us.

David
    ill actually be out but raincheck?

Patrick
    Sure thing.

  
  


# Patrick

####  **May 25, 2017,** 11:24 PM

David
    excuse me
    did you know that some cats are allergic to people

Patrick
    Are you saying you're a cat?

David
    cute
    but no
    i was with a friend and her cat started sneezing and she kicked me out

Patrick
    The cat kicked you out?!

David
    im done talking to you

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Jun 19, 2017,** 6:17 PM

Patrick
    Hey David, how are things? Good, I hope. It's quiet here. Just picking up dinner at the cafe. Ken just walked in, so I'm pretending to be deeeeeeeeeeeply engrossed in a text conversation to avoid eye contact, but I figured it was as good an excuse as any to reach out and see how you're
    Okay he left.
    Anyway, hope you're well.

David
    are you honestly eating dinner at 6 you fucking grandpa

Patrick
    Thank you so much for your concern, running into my ex was so great, and super comfortable for me, thanks for asking!

David
    if i got this worked up every time i ran into an ex, id be a constant ball of anxiety

Patrick
    ...

David
    okay rude you know what i meant

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Jul 2, 2017,** 6:14 AM

Patrick
    Happy Birthday, David! How's old age treating you?

####  **Jul 2, 2017,** 10:44 AM

David
    for the hundredth time
    WE ARE THE SAME AGE ASSHOLE

Patrick
    Nah, I'm 28 for two more months. How's almost-30?

David
    dont text me that early ever again

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Aug 11, 2017,** 1:32 AM

David
    im drunk
    miss you
    fuck patrick i miss your hands
    you have the best hands did you kow that
    and og fuck your mouth
    wanna fuck your mouth
    are you sleep
    gonna get off without you

####  **Aug 11, 2017,** 6:15 AM

Patrick
    Please tell me you drank water and took some Advil.

####  **Aug 11, 2017,** 12:37 PM

David
    oh my god im so sorry
    please pretend that never happened

Patrick
    What never happened?

David
    thank you

Patrick
    Don't forget to hydrate.

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Sep 5, 2017,** 10:00 AM

David
    happy birthday!

Patrick
    Thanks, David!

David
    any big plans today?

Patrick
    Rachel and Stevie are taking me to the Wobbly Elm.

David
    thrilling

Patrick
    Well, it's home.

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Oct 31, 2017,** 9:12 PM

David
    happy halloween!
    IMG_4629.jpg

Patrick
    You look great, David.

David
    what are you dressed up as?

Patrick
    IMG_3540.jpg

David
    ugh youre so annoying

Patrick
    What? It's a weeknight, I'm in bed!

David
    yes and theres no excuse for those pajamas

Patrick
    Sorry, I will ask your approval before bed each night to make sure I'm in appropriate sleepwear.

David
    thank you

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Nov 1, 2017,** 9:00 PM

Patrick
    IMG_3544.jpg
    These okay?

David
    stop

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Nov 2, 2017,** 9:00 PM

Patrick
    IMG_3545.jpg
    Approved?

David
    go away

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Nov 3, 2017,** 9:00 PM

Patrick
    IMG_3546.jpg
    Thoughts?

David
    blocking you

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Nov 4, 2017,** 9:00 PM

Patrick
    IMG_3547.jpg
    Any feedback?
    These aren't getting delivered, did you seriously block me?
    David
    Daaaaaviddddd

  
  


# Patrick

####  **Dec 9, 2017,** 10:14 PM

David
    hey ill be back in schitts creek the 17th do you want to hang out

Patrick
    Yeah, let's get dinner or something while you're here!

David
    great

  
  


\---

**Now:** **_December 29, 2018_ **

The bell rings overhead, a sound quickly creating a Pavlovian instinct in David, reminding him of Patrick.

"Hey!"

David steps over to the counter and drops a soft kiss to Patrick's lips. "Mm, hi. Just thought I'd stop in to see you for a bit before we head out."

They have plans to go to the Wobbly Elm with Stevie that night. David didn't really want to wait until then to see Patrick.

"Mm, well, since you're here, do you want to help me unpack some stock?"

He glances around at the cereal boxes and rat poison and dog food and god knows what else, and no, he _doesn't_ really want to help unpack stock.

"No."

Patrick breathes out a surprised laugh. "Come on, I need your opinion on this anyway."

Well, he does love having his opinion listened to. "Ugh, fine."

Patrick disappears into the back for a moment, before returning with a large, heavy-looking box, his forearms flexing deliciously. David can work with this.

He watches Patrick cut open the box and remove some packaging, before David leans forward and pulls out a bottle labeled "Body Milk," with Cassandra's farm logo printed above it, and he nearly drops it.

"You're stocking the body milk?"

Patrick shrugs. "You said I should. I trust your judgement."

David sets the bottle down and carefully winds his arms around Patrick's neck. "That's the sexiest thing I've ever heard."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

Patrick presses a kiss to David's lips, and he feels his stomach swoop at the same time that the low-burning arousal ignites.

"Back room?" David suggests, not willing to wait until they get back from the bar, hours and hours from now.

"Back room."

They trip over each other in their haste to get somewhere private to show their mutual appreciation, laughing as they go, and it reminds David of playing tag with Patrick in grade four.

He doesn't hate it.


	5. if it's okay with you, it's okay with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading this, and for all of your kind comments. For as much as this is very clearly "[tis the damn season](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuvhOD-mP8M)"-inspired, I also very much wrote this as an outlet for all of my sad, melancholy feelings about not being able to go home for the holidays. Thank you for letting me share this with you guys.
> 
> Also, highly recommend giving the song a listen if you haven't yet. I linked it above (because of course I did).

**Last Year:** **_December 17, 2017_ **

He shouldn't be surprised that he runs into Patrick less than two minutes after hitting the town limits. It's a small town, it's not unlikely, just unfortunate.

He hasn't washed the plane germs off his body. He's been in these clothes for ten hours, through not one but _two_ plane transfers, one in Cleveland of all places, which must have the longest possible corridors, giving him shin splints as he raced to make his connection while sweating through his undershirt in the overheated terminal. His face is dry from all the recycled air. His rental car smells faintly of cigarettes and he's convinced it's seeping into his Givenchy.

Overall, not feeling his best.

So of course this is when he runs into Patrick Brewer, with his beautiful wide smile and clean laundry scent.

"David!" Patrick calls, jumping up from his seat at the counter to hug him, before he's even made it fully inside the café.

He pats Patrick on the back gently, keeping a little bit of distance between their bodies. He doesn't want to get too close like this. "Hi."

Patrick smiles at him, just casually, his normal, everyday smile, and David feels his stomach swoop dangerously. Shit.

"Hey, Twyla," Patrick calls. "Can we get a caramel macchiato with skim milk, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder, please?"

Twyla grins at them. "Sure thing."

Patrick grabs David by the hand and pulls him to his seat at the counter.

It's then that David realizes he was getting dinner with Rachel. This day just keeps getting fucking better.

"Hi, David," she says, her voice carefully neutral.

"Hey."

It's awkward for a beat, until Patrick folds them into conversation together, chatting about the auditions for the spring musical that Jocelyn is directing.

"I'm sure your mother will step in again," Rachel says with a wink, and David feels his resolve melt. Maybe in an alternate universe where he didn't keep fucking with her best friend's feelings, they could be friends.

Twyla slides his coffee across the counter with a wink and an, "It's on the house. Welcome home, David."

He's about to leave when Patrick asks, there in front of Twyla and Rachel and god and everyone, if he wants to swing by his apartment later.

David is too desperate for him to worry about self-respect, and agrees easily.

And once he's showered and eaten dinner with his family, he hops back in his rental car and drives the familiar roads to Patrick's apartment, where he spends the night making Patrick yell his name into the dark and claw at his back and pant into his mouth.

Overall, a really nice homecoming.

\---

**Now:** **_December 31, 2018_ **

The second David sees Patrick at the café, he beelines for him and wraps his arms around his shoulders.

"Oh, _hi_ ," Patrick says with a laugh, his hands settling on David's waist.

"Hi. It was weird not seeing you yesterday," he tells him, honestly. "How is that possible? We didn't speak to each other at all last year."

Patrick laughs again and shrugs, dropping a kiss under David's jaw, that spot that he reaches effortlessly. "Things are different this year," he offers, easily.

David pulls back and smiles at him, before leaning down for a kiss. "Things are different this year," he agrees in a whisper, pressing the words into Patrick's lips.

And he lets it linger, loving the feeling of Patrick in his arms, until a voice to the right pulls them apart. "Hey! Nice to see you two here together."

"Hey, Rachel," Patrick greets. "I was actually just gonna go get us some drinks, you want anything?"

She shakes her head, lifting her full glass as proof. "Nah, I'm good."

"Great. Keep an eye on him, will you? Make sure he doesn't leave and ghost me for a year?" he says with a wink, then a quick kiss to David's cheek, then a wicked grin, before David finally catches up.

"Hey!"

Rachel laughs, and turns to him, that same wicked glint in her eyes. "So. Things seem to be going well, if he can joke about it."

David nods. "Yeah, yeah, we um. We're doing this for real. At least, for now. While I'm here."

"Then what?"

Oh. "We haven't really... talked about that. But I want to. Talk about it. Which is new and exciting for me."

Rachel laughs. "Well, I'm happy for you both."

"Me too," he tells her, honestly.

She looks down at her glass for a moment before pulling her eyes back up to his. "David, I know we haven't ever really been close. I'm far too protective of Patrick and you hurt him so much, and so many times, and... God, I _hated_ you. For years."

He just nods. He already knows all of this. He hates _himself_ for it.

And he thinks Patrick should hate him for it, too.

"But last year? David, you guys came so close. What happened?"

"I figured out I was holding him back," he says with a shrug, like it's nothing, like he didn't break Patirck's heart. Like he didn't break his own heart, leaving the warmest bed he's ever known.

"So what's different now?"

He smiles at her, a little watery. "I'm too selfish to stop."

Her breath hitches and a moment later, her arms are around him in a _shockingly_ strong hug. "Oh, David... it's not selfish to want to be with the person you love."

"It is if you can't give them the life they deserve."

She pulls back, one hand steady on his arms. "But what about the life he _wants_? With you?"

He breathes out, trying to keep the tears at bay, and grabs her drink out of her hand, knocking it back. These fucking Brewers (because she practically is, at this point) and their fucking sincerity are going to give him liver poisoning.

"Hey!"

"You owed me that much, for all this."

She grins at him. "I like you for him, you know. If you two can ever manage to get your shit together."

He nods. "Thank you."

She squeezes his arm, and Patrick rematerializes at David's side, passing a cosmopolitan over. God, David loves him.

"Well. I'm going to go get a drink after all because David stole mine, and then I'm going to mingle and try to get laid this year. Hey, speaking of, is Stevie here? Nevermind, I'll find her." David makes a startled sound at her bluntness, but she's already gone.

"Hey."

"Mm?" he responds, still slightly distracted by Rachel's words hanging in the air.

And not just the Stevie thing. All of it.

"Thanks for playing nice. I know you two don't get along."

"I like Rachel."

"Sure you do."

"I do! She's been a little... brusque with me in the past, but I do like her. She's protective of you."

Patrick cocks his head at him. "Does she have any reason to be? Now?"

David shakes his head. "No. No. I'm not going to disappear this year." It sounds like a promise. He hopes he can keep it. He wants to keep it.

"Great."

It's hard to remember a time when he _wanted_ to disappear. How could he? He's breezing around the room on Patrick's arm, and they corral Stevie and Rachel and Alexis and Ted and Twyla and Mutt and he's kissing Patrick at midnight and he's spending the night at Patrick's apartment, champagne tipsy and making love and whispering sweet nothings until the sun lightens the edge of the sky and he has _no_ desire to disappear this time.

He almost wants to stay.

\---

**Last Year:** **_December 18, 2017_ **

Patrick wakes him with soft kisses on his neck and a hand on his dick, and David wonders how the hell he ever thought they could be Just Friends™️.

And after Patrick takes him down his throat and makes David come with a shout, he kisses him gently as his heartbeat returns to normal, before pulling him into the shower so they can make themselves decent for breakfast.

Because Patrick Brewer is taking him out for breakfast. Like that's just... a thing they do.

And Patrick Brewer has one arm around his waist and is grinning at him with a beatific smile and sparkling eyes as they walk to the café from their parking spot across the street when David stops in his tracks.

"David?" Patrick asks, confused, his eyes still locked somewhere between David's jaw and his eyes.

"Um—"

"Patrick."

Patrick's eyes finally leave David's face, and he feels him tense up at his side.

"Ken. Um. Hi. How, uh, how are you...?"

Ken looks between them for a moment, his eyes raking down their bodies.

David knows what they look like. They look like they spend the evening desperately grasping at each other — biting and licking and kissing and pulling and scratching and gasping and moaning and _fucking_. So much fucking.

They look like they went two years without each other's bodies and had to make up for lost time.

And maybe David is projecting his hopes onto the moment, but he guesses, based on Patrick's "fuck, so good"s and "the best, David, you're the best I ever..."s and "no one's ever had me like you do"s that he gasped into David's skin last night, that Patrick probably looks more satisfied than Ken ever made him. And he guesses he probably looks more debauched than Patrick ever made Ken, if the scratch marks still stinging on his back are any indication.

He wonders if Patrick looks happier, though. That's the real question, isn't it?

David glances back at Ken and clocks his clenched jaw and flared nostrils, the fire in his eyes, and he's just about to pull Patrick out of this when Ken snaps, "God, you know, I was so _afraid_ of this. The way you talked about him, but I never thought you'd... I always knew you..." He sighs, and looks back at Patrick, square in the eyes, and in an echo of David's own thoughts, he says, "I hope you're happy, Patrick. That's all I ever wanted for you."

He steps away before Patrick can reply.

They stand there in silence, still draped around each other languidly, though the morning-after atmosphere has faded, before David breaks the silence. "I should probably just go back."

"David—"

"I'll see you around."

A moment later, he's back in his rental car, the scent of regret overpowering the lingering cigarette smoke.

\---

**Now:** **_January 1, 2019_ **

Patrick's alarm doesn't go off the next morning.

The general store is closed for the day, and David wakes up at nearly noon to Patrick's fingers combing through his hair and the smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee.

"I want it to be New Year's every day," he mumbles into Patrick's side.

He feels Patrick chuckle. "Morning, babe."

"Mm, I smell cinnamon rolls."

"Picked some up from Ivan yesterday. They're just warming. Do you want one now or do you want to wait?"

"Later," David says, hooking one leg over Patrick's.

Patrick drops his iPad on his nightstand without hesitation and David loves him for it, like he loves him for everything he does. "Well, if this is how we're starting the new year, I look forward to seeing what else this year has in store."

For once, the future talk doesn't scare him. It doesn't even nudge at the anxiety he's gotten so used to creeping up at moments like this.

No, this time, that future talk makes him... hopeful.

So he doesn't reply. He just grins and disappears under the covers.

After pulling a lazy orgasm from Patrick, and after Patrick sucks him down to the root and works two slick fingers inside of him, stroking him from the inside out, before pulling off and whispering, "I got you, sweetheart," and diving back in until David's vision goes white, David is just sated and boneless enough to ask the question he's been wondering for years.

"Patrick?"

"Mm?" Patrick responds, his fingertip tracing senseless patterns into David's arm, his eyes tracking the lines in the bright afternoon sun. Like he enjoys looking at David like this, where he can see him, in the bright light of day, laid bare for him.

David turns in closer, for once wanting eye contact for the tough conversations. "How can you keep forgiving me?" he finally asks. It comes out softer than he intends it to.

"What?"

David bites his lip. "I was... horrible to you. For years. How can you just... call it even?"

Patrick leans down and brushes his lips over David's forehead. "I _was_ mad at you. Every time you left, I was so... so _angry_ with you."

"You never acted like it."

He feels Patrick shrug one perfect shoulder. "It went away by the time you came home, I guess. I... I understood. I _understand_. Why you..." he trails off and presses another kiss to David's forehead, taking a deep breath in as if to steel himself. "It was just... more important to me to make the most of the time we _did_ have than to spend it mad at you."

David can't find the words for how that makes him feel. "I don't... I don't think I deserve that."

Patrick just cocks his head. "Deserve what?"

"You just... keep forgiving me, for being the worst kind of... for breaking your heart over and over and I... I don't think I deserve it. I don't think I deserve _you_."

Patrick slides back to look at David more fully, and gently nudges his chin up with one fingertip, forcing him to look back. "Hey, hey, no. You... David, I'm not perfect either, okay? I'm... I'm pushy and I don't talk about things until they're about to explode, and I also fucked up with you. I knew what you were able to give me and I pushed for more, to make this what _I_ wanted. That wasn't fair, either."

"It's not the same, it—"

"Are you going to do it again?"

"What?"

"Are you going to do it again? That thing where you leave in the middle of the night and ignore me all year."

David shakes his head. "No. No, I don't... I won't do it again." He doesn't think he could survive it if he did.

Patrick leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Then I forgive you," he mutters. "You did what you had to do, David." His fingertips resume their mapping of his arm, and he adds in a soft whisper, "You always came back. That's what really mattered."

David allows exactly one sob to come forward then, knowing that Patrick will hold him through it, and he rests his forehead on Patrick's solid chest and he feels Patrick's strong arms wrap around him and hold him together, even as he pleads for forgiveness that Patrick has already given him, a litany of "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Patrick"s falling from his lips.

And Patrick keeps him from shaking apart, wrapping him in his safe embrace and soothing him with gentle hands and soft, "There's nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart"s, even though there _is_ , he's just forgiven them all. Because he understands David in a way no one else ever has. Because he _knows_ David. And for the first time in David's life, he doesn't hate himself for loving Patrick too much to let him go.

\---

**Last Year:** **_December 26, 2017_ **

Patrick grips David's hand as David presses into him, and he feels Patrick's lips on the thin skin inside his wrist, the way his breath fans across his arm, disturbing the hair there.

Patrick pulls his mouth from David's skin and looks up at him, all wide-eyed wonder and overwhelming pleasure, and David already feels like he could burn up from this moment.

He closes his eyes against the onslaught of Patrick's attention and he pumps into him, relentless, until Patrick brings a hand to his cheek, one thumb tracing reverently over his cheekbone, and whispers, "David, look at me."

And he has no choice but to give Patrick anything he asks for in this moment, so his eyes meet Patrick's, soft and gentle, and David's hips stutter from the force of his gaze.

Patrick brings a leg up, pressing a heel into David's lower back and changing the angle, and he breathes out, "Show me," as if David knows what he means.

David just grips Patrick's hand tighter and keeps his eyes on his face as he drives into him, until Patrick is begging for more and David takes him in hand and Patrick's face goes slack and beautiful as he chases his pleasure with David's body.

And after Patrick comes, he pushes David onto his back and rides him, rocking gently against him until David follows him over the edge.

He cleans them off with his tongue and a washcloth, before curling up in Patrick's arms and accepting the momentary affection in his post-coital haze.

And as he's about to fall asleep, David finds himself asking, "Why did you say no? To Ken?" before he can stop the words.

Patrick inhales sharply, his grip tightening almost painfully on David's shoulder. "David, come on, you... Please don't ask me to say it. Not when you don't... David, you _know_ why." It's not angry. It's not sad. It just... _is_. He says it like the simple fact that it is, to him.

David pulls his lips between his teeth to keep the sob from escaping, and he nods. Then he presses a kiss to Patrick's chest, right where his too-big heart is beating away, as if that's a response.

"I would've said yes," Patrick continues quietly a moment later, breaking the silence in the room. "To Ken. I mean, I didn't _know_ he was going to propose, but if you hadn't come back... I would've said yes. I thought... I thought I loved him. I really, _really_ did. But then I saw you. As soon as I saw you, I-I felt more in _two seconds_ than I felt in a year with him and I just... I couldn't." David feels Patrick take a deep breath, and he knows he's about to devastate him. "Even if I would never have you, even if Ken was the closest I could ever get to... I-I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't marry him knowing I'd never feel for him what I feel for you." He trails off, thankfully. David thinks he might have combusted if he'd said it.

But David doesn't say anything in reply, he just stares into the dark nothingness of the apartment, the guilt eating him alive.

He's holding Patrick back. Patrick should be with someone who can be here, who can give him the life he deserves. Who is caring and kind like him, and just as passionate and bright. Who isn't going to break his heart year after year because they're too fucking lonely and desperate for the way Patrick makes them feel to stay away.

Someone who can love him as openly and patiently as he has loved David, someone who can wait for Patrick to love him back the way he's been waiting for David to.

Someone who isn't so _afraid_ to love him back, and afraid of all that comes with it.

He stares into the dark until sleep finally takes him.

\---

**Now:** **_January 1, 2019_ **

Having dinner with his parents and Patrick, like they're just regular boyfriends, is weird. They've been so much more in each other's pockets this year, acting like this is a real relationship, like they're a part of each other's lives. It's a little overwhelming, in the best way.

After dinner and a glass of wine, Patrick excuses himself to brush the snow off his car while David gets his bag.

"You're going to Patrick's again tonight?" his father asks once the door is shut behind Patrick. "Son, it's your last night in town, you should be with your family!"

"He's a grown man, dear. I think he can spend a night away from his parents," Moira replies, lazily swirling her wine in her glass.

"One night? He's barely been here!"

His mother levels her husband with a look. "John, I think there is a conversation to be had between our son and his lovely paramour. Isn't that right, dear?"

David is dumbstruck, but he nods. "Yeah. I, um. We need to talk. Before I leave."

Johnny's eyes go soft at the corners in that 'proud-of-my-boy' way that always made David ache and wish they were those people more regularly. "Oh! Okay. Okay, son. Then I guess we'll see you tomorrow afternoon before your flight."

David nods, and on a whim, he reaches forward to hug his father, then his mother, and with a soft "thank you," he leaves the room to meet up with Patrick outside.

Patrick, who has left his car to run and warm up before David came out, because he's perfect and oh _god_ , David isn't ready to miss him yet.

The short drive to Patrick's apartment is fraught with unspoken emotions, the air heavy and thick between them.

When they finally pull into Patrick's parking space and climb the stairs to his apartment and close the door behind them, the silence has become uncomfortable.

David walks himself through it, step by step — He places his bag down. Then he removes his coat silently. Then he pulls out a chair. Then he sits down and unties his shoes. Then he stands and places them down in the boot tray by Patrick's front door. Then he pushes the chair back in. Then he takes his bag to the bedroom. Then he sets the bag on the chair Patrick leaves clear for this express purpose. Then he sits on the bed.

He can do this, this time. He doesn't have to run.

He takes a deep breath, and feels Patrick drop into the desk chair across from him.

David opens his eyes, and Patrick's smile fills his vision. God, he loves that smile so much. It bolsters him. He wants to keep that smile there.

That smile is what does it.

With a deep breath, David pulls a folded paper out of his back pocket. "This is for you. I kept chickening out, but... there's really no other chance to give this to you, is there?"

"What is this?"

David smiles. "A belated Christmas gift."

Patrick unfolds the sheet, and David can see the moment it hits him. "David, what is this?" he repeats.

"An airline voucher?" David tells him, his voice hopeful and inflecting up at the end as if it's a question. "If you were interested in some more time as temporary boyfriends. You could... you could come see me, and we can pick this back up again."

Patrick looks at him, his eyes steady on David's face, as he asks the question they've both been avoiding for the last week. "And between tomorrow and when I visit? What are we then?"

David swallows. "Friends?"

"Friends," Patrick repeats, flatly, disbelievingly.

"I just... Patrick, our lives are separate. What, are you going to just pick up your life and move to New York?"

"If that's what it takes!"

David shakes his head. "You would hate it there."

Patrick leans forward and places one steady, grounding hand on his knee. "I just want to be with you, David."

"I can't ask you to give up everything you've built here."

Patrick nods, understanding as always. "David, you... I love you. I _love_ you, alright?"

David just gapes at him, his throat too closed up to speak.

"That's what this has _always_ been about. I've been in love with you since I was 16 years old. You _know_ that. It's why you took off last year."

"You didn't... you didn't say, um..."

"I didn't have to. You knew." Patrick's voice is gentle, his eyes pleading, his touch soft on David's knee.

David pulls his lips in between his teeth and bites down, hard, giving himself a second to formulate a reply. He laces his fingers through Patrick's. "Show me?" he asks quietly, finally understanding what Patrick meant last year.

Patrick leans forward and places the softest, sweetest kiss against David's lips. "I've been showing you ever since our first kiss," he says earnestly, softly, _cornily_ , "but if you need me to show you again..." he breathes out against David's mouth, before pressing his lips to his once again. He holds them there, not letting David break the kiss, not letting David pull away, as he lowers them both down onto his mattress.

He undresses David with more care than even David shows his clothes. He eases each item off of David's body as if it's precious, as if _he's_ precious. As if savoring every centimeter of skin he reveals as he goes.

He presses his lips to David's skin, seemingly everywhere at once.

David already has tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Patrick's body is pressing him down into his mattress, but David already aches from missing him, just _knowing_ that tomorrow is the last day he's guaranteed to see him.

He swallows down the lump in his throat that threatens to break free in a sob, and forces himself to forget about the deadline, about the ending, about the goodbye, and just focus on the fact that Patrick is right here, now, against him.

On the fact that Patrick _loves_ him.

On the fact that he loves Patrick, fiercely and wholly, with every year of their past stretched thin between them, and with every year of their future stretched out before them, he has loved him, he does love him, he will love him.

And when Patrick has gently stretched him open with slick fingers that _know_ David's body like no one has, fingers that can push him to the brink and pull him back again over and over with practised ease, like it's second nature, Patrick finally presses himself into him, and holds himself there, knowing David will need a moment.

And that right there forces the sob up and out of his throat.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, are you—"

The endearment tears another sob from him. "I'm okay," he promises, his voice wet and shaking. "I'm okay."

Patrick presses a reverent kiss to his orbital bone, then to the other, then to both eyelids, before pressing his lips featherlight against David's, and on a sigh, telling him, "I love you, David."

He doesn't say it back. He _can't_ say it back. Not now, not knowing that in a few hours, he'll wake up in Patrick's arms for the last time until god knows when.

Maybe if he'd known a week ago, he would've— but no, that's not true. He knew.

He knew a year ago, when he asked Patrick why he turned down Ken's proposal. He knew three years ago when his dad had a heart attack and Patrick dropped everything to be there for David. He knew nine years ago when Patrick confessed that he loved him in high school. Hell, he knew twelve years ago when Patrick ditched the prom to buy him mozzarella sticks.

David was just so convinced that Patrick didn't fit into the life he always imagined for himself that he didn't allow himself to consider the truth of it.

And the truth of it is that somehow, Patrick has always loved him. Despite how many times David has broken his heart, despite how many times David has walked away, despite how damaged and broken and difficult he was and still is, Patrick has loved him through all of it.

David was just never ready to accept it.

But he has now — he knows Patrick loves him, and he knows he loves Patrick.

So he holds him, and he presses his skin against his, and when Patrick pushes inexplicably deeper inside him, he comes with Patrick's name falling from his lips like a prayer.

And when Patrick comes, it's with overwhelming eye contact and his hand gripping David's, and David lets him, this time, knowing full well what he needs. He lets Patrick love him, he lets him show him.

And after they stumble to the shower and then back to bed, he lets Patrick hold him as they both stare into the dark room.

"I can't ask you to stay," Patrick says quietly, after too much time has passed for it to make sense that they're both still awake.

"I know," he forces out.

"I can't ask you to give up your life just to be with me."

"I know," David repeats.

They're quiet for a while, before David finally breaks the silence. "I don't want to fall asleep. It seems like a waste of our time..."

He feels Patrick nod, and convinces himself that the moisture on the back of his neck is from Patrick's breath. "We'll have more time. When I come see you in New York."

"And if you meet someone before then?"

Patrick laughs, sadly. "You serious?"

David shrugs. "I can't ask you to wait for me, just like you can't ask me to stay."

Patrick smiles against his neck. "I will anyway."

David shakes his head. "I wish you wouldn't."

"Well, I haven't met anyone who even holds a candle to you in fifteen years, David."

He forces his voice even as he says, "You should let yourself be happy."

"You're one to talk about letting yourself be happy, David."

He stares at the wall for a long time before sleep finally comes.

\---

**Last Year:** **_December 27, 2017_ **

David dresses silently, the morning light just barely reaching the treetops outside the window, as Patrick snoozes away behind him.

He pulls his sweater on, combs his fingers through his hair, and glances longingly at the coffee pot. It sits proudly on the counter, right next to the insulated travel mug Patrick brings to him in the mornings so his coffee doesn't get cold on his— on Patrick's other nightstand.

It feels like tearing off a limb with his bare hands, leaving this place after what Patrick told him last night.

He opens the door and shuts it silently behind him anyway.

And when his plane lands in New York (at fucking LaGuardia, adding insult to injury), he turns his phone back on with a wince, terrified of what he'll see there.

# Patrick

####  **Dec 27, 2017,** 8:04 AM

Patrick
    Did you leave?

####  **Dec 27, 2017,** 8:23 AM

Patrick
    David, come on. Can you please let me know you're okay?

####  **Dec 27, 2017,** 11:32 AM

Patrick
    Stevie told me you left town. I hope you make it back home safely.

  
  


\---

**Now:** **_January 2, 2019_ **

He lingers in Patrick's apartment as late as he possibly can, and with a final tight, squeezing hug and a kiss followed by shaky sighs against each other's mouths, he leaves, hopping into Stevie's car and resting his forehead against the window.

"You okay?" Stevie asks quietly.

"No."

"I know. It just felt like I should ask anyway."

He doesn't say anything, just shuts his eyes against the morning sun.

"Can I ask you a question?" Stevie asks as they turn onto Main Street.

"I have a feeling you will anyway."

"What is it about New York?"

That's... not what he was expecting. "I have big dreams."

"And you can't have those dreams here?"

He laughs, bitterly. "I'm a gallerist, Stevie. So, no. I don't think I can."

She just nods. "And Patrick?"

"What about him?"

"David, you've been happier this month than I have _ever_ seen you."

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

"Why do you wanna live in a place that's done nothing but hurt your feelings?"

"It's where my _life_ is, Stevie."

She slams on the brakes at a stop sign, his head bouncing against the window, forcing him to look at her. "You don't even _like_ that life, David. Why not build a new one somewhere else?" She starts driving again, but she doesn't let up. "With someone who loves you? God, do you even know how lucky you are? How _rare_ that is?"

"Yes," he whispers, before he shuts his eyes again and doesn't reopen them until he's back at home.

It's a whirlwind there, saying goodbye to his family and dealing with his mother's hysterics and packing his suitcases into his rental car, but he finally gets on the road.

10 minutes outside of Schitt's Creek, his phone chimes with a text, but he isn't able to check it until he hits the next red light. Which isn't until Elmdale.

# Patrick

####  **Today,** 11:37 AM

Patrick
    Hi, babe. Can you text me when you land? I want to make sure you made it safely. Miss you already.
    Also, looking at that voucher and the next available dates to use it are January 15-27th. Is that too soon? Seems like we should probably just keep being boyfriends then, eh?
    For the record, this is me ignoring your request to end this and pick it back up next time we see each other, because it's a stupid idea and I don't wanna do it.
    I love you. Have a safe flight. ❤️

  
  


He hears a short, polite beep from the car behind him and realizes the light has turned green.

On instinct, he throws on his blinker and makes a u-turn.

\---

**Eighteen Days Ago:** **_December 15, 2018_ **

David knocks back the last of his glass of wine, thankful for the first class ticket he purchased and its unlimited drinks, before pulling up his text thread with Patrick for the millionth time in the last year.

# Patrick

####  **Dec 27, 2017,** 8:04 AM

Patrick
    Did you leave?

####  **Dec 27, 2017,** 8:23 AM

Patrick
    David, come on. Can you please let me know you're okay?

####  **Dec 27, 2017,** 11:32 AM

Patrick
    Stevie told me you left town. I hope you make it back home safely.

####  **Jan 1, 2018,** 12:02 AM

Patrick
    Happy New Year, David.

####  **Feb 14, 2018,** 5:33 PM

Patrick
    Happy Valentine's Day, David. Is it horrible of me to say I hope you're spending it alone?

####  **Feb 14, 2018,** 6:02 PM

Patrick
    That was a bad joke that I don't think landed. I don't hope you're alone. I hope you’re with someone who cares about you, and that you’re happy.

####  **July 2, 2018,** 10:00 AM

Patrick
    Happy Birthday, David.

####  **Sep 1, 2018,** 12:38 PM

Patrick
    My mom just texted me that she's doing that same Pygmalion project she does every year and it made me remember how you made a presentation about Audrey Hepburn's wardrobe in My Fair Lady instead. Hope you're well, David.

####  **Oct 9, 2018,** 9:20 PM

Patrick
    Happy Thanksgiving, David. Although I guess it's not Thanksgiving there.

####  **Nov 23, 2018,** 5:14 PM

Patrick
    Happy Thanksgiving, David.

####  **Dec 10, 2018,** 12:07 PM

Patrick
    Just ran into the cafe for lunch and Mutt and Ted were being passive aggressive toward each other at the counter and it reminded me how you always said there was too much sexual tension between them.

####  **Dec 13, 2017,** 12:10 PM

Patrick
    I've written and deleted his like ten times, so I'm just gonna come right out and say it: I miss you, David. Are you coming back for Christmas this year? I'd love to see you.

  
  


He thinks he loves him.

It feels Too Big, to admit that now, after everything.

But the last year without him has been worse than anything. Every artist he failed to sign, every piece he couldn't sell, every time he went home alone because the person he was with just _wasn't Patrick Brewer_ and being unable to text him about it because of his own goddamn stupidity... it all drove home that he lives his life looking forward to the two weeks a year when he's in Patrick's orbit.

He hopes Patrick can forgive him for leaving.

They may not ever be able to really be something, but David might love him, and he thinks Patrick may have been telling him that he loves him, too.

And that's worth fighting through the fear and anxiety about seeing him again, it's worth swallowing his pride and apologizing for running, it's worth seeing if it can _be_ something, at least for a little bit, at least while they're together.

He's just so goddamn sick of fighting against his instinct to get swept away in Patrick's current.

David signals the flight attendant, and asks for another wine.

He rereads Patrick's last text: "I miss you, David. Are you coming back for Christmas this year? I'd love to see you."

God, he hopes it's true.

\---

**Now:** **_January 2, 2019_ **

David takes one quick glance around the store and, seeing no one, turns the lock behind him, the bell still jingling away above him.

"Just a second!" Patrick's voice calls from the back.

David feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, and it makes him smile. That must be what Patrick is ignoring customers for.

"Sorry about that, welcome to— David. Wh-what are you doing here, I thought you were—"

"Do you want me to stay?"

Patrick blinks at him. "What?"

"Do you want me to stay? In Schitt's Creek? With you?"

"David, I... I would never ask you to—"

"I know," he practically snaps, cutting him off. "I know you would never _ask_ me to. But that's not what I asked. I'm asking if you _want_ me to."

Patrick opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He closes his jaw and glances at the floor, before trying again. "I..."

"Patrick." Patrick looks at him, and David forces his expression to soften. "Do you want me to stay here?"

Patrick blinks at him, his big Bambi eyes shining under the fluorescent lights of the store, unfairly flattering to him. "God, David, I... of _course_ I want you to stay here, why do you think I bought this place?" He gestures around him, his eyes locked on David. "I bought it for _you_. I hoped you... I wanted to offer some incentive for you to stay, I thought— I thought if I could help you make your dream for this place come true, maybe you'd..."

David feels himself crack open. That last little bit of defense he had built around his heart, that thing that got him as far as Elmdale this morning, crumbles to dust under Patrick's caring gaze.

It's enough. Patrick wanting him here is enough. Patrick has sacrificed so much, just to love him — his own happiness, his career, his relationships.

It's time for David to love him back the same way. He thinks he can, now. At least, he wants to try. He wants to prove that he's worthy of Patrick's steady love and constant forgiveness. And he knows that'll take time — but he wants that, too.

He wants to be brave, the way Patrick has always been. He wants to be open and vulnerable. He wants to make a sacrifice for Patrick. A compromise. He's heard that's important.

David steps toward him and wraps his arms around Patrick's neck. "You _are_ the incentive, Patrick."

He kisses him then, pouring everything he has into Patrick, and feels Patrick push up slightly against him, meeting him measure for measure with every press of their lips.

When David finally pulls back, Patrick is slightly dazed, and happier than David has ever seen him, and he's so beautiful that he _has_ to. "I love you," he whispers, and Patrick's face softens even more, his eyes even more dazed.

"Does this mean I didn't need to shell out for the store?"

David laughs, though he can _feel_ the emotion clogging his throat, making it a gross coughing sound. "It was a nice gesture. And since I'm staying, I _will_ be needing a job, so..."

Patrick's grin is wider than David thought it could be, his eyes bright and sparkling as his hands find David's waist to haul him in again. "I know the owner, I'll make sure he gets your resumé."

"Oh? Does he want to see the moodboard and listen to my pitch about renaming the place, because I—"

"David?" Patrick says, his eyes serious. "Whatever you want to do with the place. I trust you."

He doesn't know if he deserves it. Not after everything he's done to Patrick over the years.

But he certainly isn't going to question it.

Not when his future is finally laid out so clearly for him.

So instead, he kisses Patrick, his not-temporary-boyfriend and maybe-business-partner — or his boss? The roles are unclear and he should really ask him about it. And he will. Once his mouth frees up.

It could be a while, though.

\---

**Next Year:** **_December 25, 2019_ **

"Merry Christmas, babe," Patrick whispers against his ear, the only sound against the quiet winter morning outside their apartment.

David rolls his eyes. "Patrick, seriously, stop it."

"Stop what, babe?"

David turns over to face his boyfriend. "Seriously, can your Christmas present to me be that you _stop_ calling me 'babe?'"

Patrick kisses the tip of David's nose. "It's cute you think you're getting a present from me."

David sputters. "But—!"

"I spent the last two days setting up that espresso machine in the back room of the store!"

"It did not take you _two days_ to—"

"When you figure in that the antique table you _required_ me to set up back there for it didn't fit through the doors so I had to take it apart and rebuild it in place—"

David cuts him off with a kiss. "Hey," he says when he pulls back. "I love you, _babe_."

Patrick's answering grin is wide and blinding for a moment, before he flops onto his back and looks at David expectantly.

"What's this?"

"Waiting for my first present," Patrick replies with a wicked grin.

David's not about to deny either one of them this gift, and he makes his way down Patrick's body, lingering over his shoulders where his freckles come out in the summer — freckles that David got to experience blooming across grown-up Patrick's well-defined shoulders in real time late last spring, as he helped David move his things out of his studio apartment in the city, wearing only a tank top for some ungodly reason; freckles David lost count of by the time August hit and Patrick spent days swimming in the creek and ignoring David's calls for SPF; freckles he got to see fade in the autumn as Patrick traded in his baseball uniform for soft sweaters.

They've made good work of claiming spring, summer and autumn for this relationship, of seeing how they fit into those months, individually and together. And now, looking at his future spread out for him with pillow-creases still on its gorgeous face, he wants nothing more than to reclaim the winter, too. To start new traditions, to rewrite some of the hurt they've had to endure during holidays past.

Starting with morning blow jobs.

And after they're both sated and boneless, he pulls Patrick out of bed and into the kitchen for coffee and cinnamon rolls.

"Mm, are you _sure_ we have to go today? Can't we just lounge around here all day?" David asks after presents are exchanged.

"Yes, David, we do have to see our parents today."

"But it's our first Christmas together," David pouts.

Patrick bursts out laughing, pulling away from their lazy cuddle on the couch to grip his sides.

"What?!" David demands.

"Oh my... ar-are you serious?" Patrick asks between gasps. "We've spent like ten Christmases together!"

"Never as boyfriends!"

Patrick grins and leans forward, dropping a kiss against David's mouth, even as he keeps laughing. "Yeah, well, whose fault was that?"

David makes an offended noise, before stalking to their bathroom. "Fine, but I reserve the right to drunkenly whine about wanting to get you home and naked after dinner with your parents."

"Deal."

"And," he calls back through the open bathroom door, "you have to come shower with me before we go to my parents' house."

"Deal," Patrick says, his voice sounding closer. David hears his soft footsteps approaching and grins.

It's David's best Christmas yet, and it's not even 11am.

It's made even better when Patrick detours past their store on the way to the Roses' house and shows him his Christmas gift.

"I-I thought you said your present was the... was the table?"

Patrick grins at him, slipping an arm around his waist. "You didn't think I meant it, did you?"

David stares at the sign above their door reading _Rose Apothecary_ in the exact font he chose back when he still thought they were replacing the old sign with a new one that read _Schitt's Creek Apothecary_ , and two roses he sketched mindlessly on a receipt one slow afternoon.

"Patrick, this is..."

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," Patrick says softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I can't... I can't accept this," David says on an exhale, overwhelmed. "The store is _ours_ , Patrick, I can't just—"

"Hey," Patrick says, moving David to face him. "This store represents so much of _you_ , of what you bring to this town, what you bring to me. I bought it for _you_. Let me name it after you."

David feels the tears slip down his cheek as he looks at what they built together, and wildly, he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind that maybe one day, the name Rose will refer to Patrick, too.

"I love it, Patrick. I love _you_. Thank you."

Patrick kisses him in reply.

"Oh my _god_ ," David says, pulling away with a grim realization. "I got you a fucking _sweater_ , this is so unfair."

Patrick just laughs and presses his lips to David's once more.

\---

**Two Years From Now:** **_December 25, 2020_ **

"Merry Christmas, babe," Patrick whispers against his ear. It's silent but for the sound of Patrick's voice, the snow outside blanketing the town in a hush.

"Please, _please_ stop."

Patrick nuzzles the back of his neck. "Fine. Merry Christmas, _future husband_."

David bites his lip to hold back the Cheshire grin splitting his face almost painfully as he brings his left hand up to grip Patrick's where it's curled into David's sleep shirt, tucked against his sternum, and admires the way the four gold bands look on his fingers, intertwined with Patrick's.

Then he remembers that he doesn't _have_ to hold back his grin, that Patrick likes seeing him happy, and he lets the smile take over as he turns around in his fiancé's arms.

"Merry Christmas, _future husband_ ," he repeats, hardly believing the words even as he says them, even as he feels the proof of Patrick's question against his fingers, even three months after he asked.

Patrick had proposed in September — on the 5th, actually, telling David that all he wanted for his birthday was a fiancé. A proposal today would have made the most sense. Christmas means a lot to them, there's so much history there. But those hazy days where summer transitions into autumn is a time that belongs just to _this_ iteration of their relationship, the permanent one that they get to keep.

Patrick just pulls him close and nuzzles into his neck. "It looks like it's coming down pretty hard out there," he mumbles, pulling David from his memories. "I don't think we'll be able to make it to our parents' houses today."

David hums. "Oh, no, what a pity, what _ever_ shall we do to occupy our time?"

Patrick grins at him, that smile that still makes David's stomach flip-flop, that still makes his knees weak, that still makes him swoon. "Breakfast?" He asks with a wink, before disappearing under the covers.

"That's gross, Patrick," David chastises with a giggle. "Also I still demand cinnamon rolls."

Patrick peeks his head back out from under the covers. "You'll get cinnamon rolls, sweetheart, I promise."

"I fucking better!"

It's not long before his laughter turns to moans and his fingers, clad in four golden bands, twist in the bedsheet as he cries out his fiancé's name.

It's David's best Christmas yet, and it's not even 11am.

\---

**Three Years From Now:** **_December 25, 2021_ **

"Merry Christmas, babe," Patrick whispers against his ear. The cottage is quiet around them but for the hum of the old refrigerator.

"Honey, _please_."

"You know I'm gonna keep doing it as long as it keeps annoying you," Patrick replies with a grin.

Dave turns over in Patrick's arms and pulls his left hand up to press a kiss to the thin gold band there. The one that matches David's own. "Is that any way to treat your husband on your first Christmas as a married couple?"

Patrick shrugs. "I dunno, I think it's tradition at this point."

"You know what else is tradition?" David says with a shimmy of his shoulders.

"Cinnamon rolls?"

He pushes gently at Patrick's shoulder with a laugh. "I was _going_ to say blow jobs, but now I just want a cinnamon roll."

Patrick leans forward and presses a kiss under David's ear. "I don't think we have time for both, since our families will be here by lunch."

David pulls back and raises one eyebrow at his husband. "Is that a challenge?"

Patrick groans. "After last night? I think it's more of an impossibility."

David looks at Patrick consideringly, before pulling him out of bed and onto his feet. "Well, come on, if we're going to do both, it'll need to be at the same time."

His husband laughs as David pulls him down the steps and into the kitchen, and once he turns the oven on and gets the cinnamon rolls on a baking sheet, David drops to his knees.

Patrick is still catching his breath when the oven is preheated, and he returns the favor as their breakfast warms up.

They somehow clean up and make themselves presentable by the time their families — _family_ , now that they share them — arrive at their cottage for the holiday festivities.

It's David's best Christmas yet, and it's not even 11am.

He figures that's going to be another new Christmas tradition for them, and he can't wait to see how next year tops this.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to chat with me on [tumblr](https://danverses.tumblr.com)!


End file.
